


The Risk of Absence

by VendelynSilverhawk



Series: Between the Shadow and Soul [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky needs a break, Clint and Nat are best buds, Epic Friendship, F/M, Family Dynamics, Gen, Natasha can be adorable too, Pepper is the best, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Subtle Romance, Team as Family, Tony is lonely, Winter Soldier fallout, avengers deal with modern media, no stupid drama or needless jealously, rehabilitating!Bucky, this is a family fic romance is the cherry on top
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-18 04:03:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 49,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2334575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VendelynSilverhawk/pseuds/VendelynSilverhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has only just begun to adjust to the modern world, but as he and Natasha realize that being lonely is no longer the only option, the Winter Soldier re-appears with all of Natasha's ghosts behind him. With S.H.I.E.L.D. gone and the Avengers falling into a dysfunctional family, it will take all of them to make the Winter Soldier whole. When the world discovers that the Winter Soldier lives, however, not everyone will race to his defense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this fic, it will be relatively quickly paced- I think- and will be short chapters, nothing incredibly long and winding, I think. Also, I’m twisting the movie a bit- this is a mix of MCU and comics!verse, so expect to find elements of both tied together as neatly as I can- to comply with the comics and my vision for the story, so when I mention things like Bucky’s scars, ignore the fact that his chest is glistening and flawless when we see it in CATWS. This is a romance, yes, but it also features heavily the friendships among the characters, and the relationships between them that are not necessarily love or romance. I think I like bromances more than romances, actually, so expect a good amount of both- this is not a fic where the other Avengers fall by the wayside as comic relief or one-line mentions just to reassure the reader that they exist. At least, I’m trying to avoid that- that’s where you reviewers come in, to tell me how effectively I am doing that and to what degree of your satisfaction.  
> I hope you guys enjoy my contributions to the incredibly talented Winter Soldier fandom! (this is following my disjointed vignette-style writing, and POV will jump around quite a lot so if it gets disorienting or you see glaring errors when I do it, like tense, PLEASE tell me and I will revise)  
> ALSO another note: This story is being posted from my fanfiction.net account (same name, Vendelyn Silverhawk) so updating will be sporadic, but if you just want to read the whole thing so far pop over there.

“Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.”

-The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupery

BSBSBSBSBSBS

The ghost of Bucky Barnes was haunting her, and she did not know why.      

Natasha punched the thick red bag that was bigger than her entire body, sweat dripping down her temples, wrapped knuckles cracking beneath the thick bandages. She didn't know how long it had been since she pushed herself to masochism.        

Not since before Budapest, she was sure. S.H.I.E.L.D. saw self-harm of any kind as an indicator of psychological distress, and before that Natasha didn't see any practicality in hurting herself when others would be trying to do it for her. Not counting for all of the other "psychological distress" of hers that Fury pushed under the table to keep her in action, since he trusted her word more than a group of shrinks'. Still, the rhythm of physical self-destruction was not new, nor was it familiar. It just was, so she kept going, because she was being haunted and could not tell anyone why.    

She didn't know why. She just knew that her knuckles weren't bleeding enough and her body wasn't tired enough so she pushed herself past the limits of what even her Soviet handlers told her to do, when she was still an Unmade girl, as Clint would say.      

Maybe the pain would offer clarity, and an explanation for why the face of a dead man looked so familiar.

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**Four Days Earlier**

Steve had spent hours at the graves; that's where Natasha found him before their mission, leaving a bottle on his friend's grave. She knew from the reports how often he went- more than he did to visit Peggy.      

The DC area had a lot of memories for Steve, with its war history monuments and the new Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian; he had obviously been wallowing there for too long. Natasha had found him another day in the Howling Commando section, staring at the uniforms lined up at the front. At one in particular, at Captain America's right side.      

She hadn't bothered looking at anything else- all that mattered was the mission, getting him focused, and today that meant leaving the cemetery and getting him on the plane to Paris. Even Fury had noted his frequent visits to the WWII memorial and museums, the cemetery. It was troubling that he was still stuck in the past when it held nothing but ghosts. Then, everyone so often forgot that for Steve, it wasn't the past. When he woke up, Bucky Barnes had been dead for a few weeka, then he learned it was seventy years and he lost everyone else, too. After that, New York had come so quickly that it was only a few weeks after that that he got a chance to properly grieve. A year later, it still probably wasn't enough. Natasha knew that everyone else had the illusion of distance, of seventy years between then and now. But for Steve, this was just a few feet in the direction towards healing.

“We’re due at the airport in half an hour,” she said, looking at him from behind the headstone where he was sitting. She didn’t need to move to see the name on the front- none of the other Howling Commandos were buried in DC, and Steve had already made peace with their deaths. Squinting in the afternoon sunlight, Steve looked up at her, then back down at the grave. Natasha followed his eyes and noted, from what she could see over the headstone, the multitude of pictures and flowers littering the ground. There was even a bottle of whiskey settled on the bright grass.

Sunlight made the drawings practically white, so she could only make out a few lines of pencil here and there, but it was the flowers that surprised her- bundles of forget-me-nots scattered around the grave, a large sprig sitting on a pile of drawings. Natasha frowned, kneeling down and placing a hand on the headstone gently, waiting.

“Bucky always liked flowers. Never admitted it, being who he was, but if we hadn’t lived in the city I think he would’ve wanted a garden. He’d probably tell me not to keep leaving them on his grave and moping, though,” Steve said, half-smiling as she glanced at her.

“Regardless of what he would say, I’m telling you now that you have fifteen minutes to take your moping elsewhere,” Natasha said firmly, but not unkindly. “We have a mission, remember?”

“Yeah… where are we going again?”

“Paris, so pack your beret.”

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**Hours Later, Paris**

James Buchannan Barnes.      

Natasha didn't know the name until Steve woke up, or if she did had not held onto it. American history was a footnote to her- it was American battle tactics she has been interested in. Knowing the names of the Howling Commandos was irrelevant- knowing how they revolutionized warfare was.      

So when he finally opened up as they sat outside the Paris coffeehouse, it took her a moment to place the name in a context, and to recall the look in his eyes when he was reminiscing at the grave earlier that morning. Whatever had changed, the Bucky floodgates had opened up, and it looked like Natasha was going to deal with the fallout instead of Steve’s designated S.H.I.E.L.D. shrink. She didn’t blame him.      

"He was my first choice for the team," Steve said, staring out over the Seine. It was a change from wallowing in the murky brown depths of his coffee- Natasha had ordered something he couldn't pronounce. Caffeine didn't work on him, so he asked for whatever tasted best.      

"My best man."      

"I'm sorry," Natasha said, because there was nothing else to say when confronted with a seventy-year-old horror story like Steve's. Funny how modern America so quickly forgot the real horrors of war once he was gone, instead preferring the chorus girl image that sold bonds and movie tickets and yelled "Freedom!" when charging into Nazi lines. A conservative All-American boy.

"I just wish... I wish I could tell him I'm sorry," Steve said. "He went through hell and then I showed up and asked him to dive back in."      

"I'm sure he knew what he was doing," Natasha said, taking a sip of her drink. "Every soldier does."      

"You sound like you know," Steve said curiously. Natasha glanced four tables down at their target- a middle-aged man who had done nothing but order more scones and stare at the waitress' breasts- and decided they had time for a story. Their guy wasn't going anywhere just yet. Besides, months after New York the Avengers were scattered, Bruce back in hiding after even Tony's toys couldn't convince him to stay in a heavily populated area- they communicated via Skype, apparently- Thor still in Asgard presumably dealing with family matters after his brief visit during The Convergence, Tony busy in the tower being... Well, Tony. That left Natasha, Clint, and Steve, S.H.I.E.L.D. employees who still had a semblance of heroism as their job.      

Currently Steve was on his fourth official field mission since New York, putting all of the modern-day military training and history sessions between waking up and Now to good use, finally. It was also his first mission with Natasha involving out of the country and extended lack of S.H.I.E.L.D. supervision. So far, it was evident that Steve was enjoying the freedom- being stuck in his apartment or at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ had hardly been exhilarating.      

Sitting on the bank of the Seine, sipping French coffee on a glorified stalking mission to make sure one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s only outside suppliers- besides Stark Industries- wasn't dealing under the table to terrorists that Clint was currently dealing with, was the closest thing to a vacation Natasha had had in months. She set her cup down and laid a hand on the table, pomegranate fingernails standing out against the white tablecloth.        

"Being a soldier, being a spy... Sometimes they're surprisingly similar," Natasha said, meeting Steve's gaze. "Following orders is the sum of our existence. I'm sure your friend  understood that as well as you did."        

"Is it terrible for me to say that doesn't help?" Steve asked, looking sheepishly at her through the glare of the sun on the water.      

"Not when it's true," Natasha replied, and tapped her nails against the table. Their target was looking around more urgently now- there was anxiety behind the five blueberry scones.      

"Bucky... He deserved better. When I was crashing I thought, at least I'll get to see him again. Now I just have museum clips and a pile of documentaries and biographies, and I know he's been gone for seventy years but for me... It just feels like one."      

"Have you read biography that speculates about your love life?" Natasha grinned in an effort to dispel the gloom, and Steve couldn't help but match it.        

"I try to stay away from historians," Steve said. "Ever since Tony sent me that sixties documentary."        

"The one where you two were lovers?"        

"I thought you didn't know anything about my history," Steve said, and Natasha knew he was grateful for her limited knowledge, aside from military tactics. Being barraged by the modern world with a storm of his friends' faces and stories had been one of his biggest obstacles.      

"I don't. I heard Stark taking a bet with Clint about how much you would flip out," Natasha said. "I haven't even seen pictures of you before the serum, let alone anyone else involved."      

"That's..."        

"Refreshing? Everyone has their secrets, their past. Considering how public yours is... Why should I pry? If all my secrets were leaked I would appreciate anyone who didn't leap up to read all."        

"I think it would take a lifetime to go through your secrets," Steve said.        

"It's a good thing you have two, then." Natasha met his eyes, and for a minute the target was forgotten. Both of them had long abandoned their coffee. Orange bled into the river as the sun began to set.        

"Our guy is moving," Steve said suddenly, noticing the flicker of movement at the table.        

"And he looks nervous," Natasha got up, casually taking her purse as Steve grabbed their cups. He tossed them in the trashcan and Natasha looped her arm through his when their target, forehead sweaty, eyes shifting, looked back.      

"So, whoever he was supposed to meet didn't show," Steve remarked. They crossed the street, steps in sync, Natasha's ballet flats hardly making a sound- it was a welcome change from the heels she often wore under cover. Steve didn't see the point of them, except for intimidation or pain on the wearer’s part, but Pepper seemed to enjoy them and Clint swore they were sexy on the right woman.      

"I really hope that doesn't mean we were outed," Natasha muttered. "Because I would hate to cause a-"      

Just as they hit the sidewalk their target began to run, and Natasha threw aside her purse irritably.        

"Scene!" she cursed.        

Steve and she fell into a sprint, Steve outstripping her easily as they jostled through the crowd and excusing himself in terrible French. Natasha peeled around a corner to head him off if he went in the direction she thought he would. This was going to be a lot messier than she’d hoped.

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**Three Hours Later**

Their target drugged and dumped in a S.H.I.E.L.D. car out back, where he would be ferried back to his hotel in the city, Natasha rolled her neck and sneaked back up the stairwell, shrugging off her coat as she went. She didn't see anyone on her way up, and the hall was empty when she keyed into their room.      

"Steve?" She asked, seeing his broad shoulders silhouetted against the blinded window, the scant light of the city taking over for the setting sun. He turned to her as she flipped on the lights, and she sighed heavily when she saw the look in his face. Even standing still with his arms crossed he radiated restlessness.      

"Eager to get back to DC?" she said, walking forward and tossing her key card and coat into one of the beds.      

"Do you want to talk more about it?" She asked, sitting on the plush couch and tucking her legs under her. Steve's jaw clenched, and he sighed. Natasha took that as a yes, and waved him over. When he sank down next to her, back hunched, elbows on his knees, he looked at her.        

"You know, visiting the grave for the twentieth time will probably help less than the last visit. And you've memorized the museum exhibit audio tour," she prodded. "At this point, a shrink would probably recommend talking about it."      

They both knew what she was talking about- the same thing that had cropped up at the cafe, had kept Fury from approving Steve's orders for so long, occupied 90% of Steve's free time in the 21st Century.        

"What else is there to tell?" Steve asked helplessly. "We were closer than brothers growing up- when he got drafted I thought I was in a nightmare, then Erskine’s program recruited me and after a few months as a chorus girl, gave me a pass to Europe. I saved Bucky, formed the Howling Commandos, fought Hydra, got Bucky killed, died. The end."  

She'd never heard him sound so negative about it. Even when he'd asked about what happened to his friends for the first time, it was like being punched in the gut, raw grief, not depression.      

"What about the middle parts? I don't remember half of my story and I know more than that," Natasha teased. Steve's eyes sharpened at her comment about not remembering, but for some reason he didn't ask. Natasha hoped it was because he was actually planning on getting some weight off his shoulders. He'd been subconsciously grieving for longer than he should have been- hence Fury's belief in the necessity of this mission with her. Besides, they had time to spare- their flight wasn’t till eight the next morning.    

"Well... I guess, growing up was a good time. Hard, when you've got about every medical malady known to man," Steve said. "I was an asthmatic who couldn't pick a winning fight to save my life, and Bucky... He was cocky, a joker, but in third grade I stood up to Calvin Hasse when he was teasing Mary Davis, and as soon as Calvin came after me Bucky jumped him instead of running, just to save my sorry ass. Then he walked me all the way back home. My mom made him stay for dinner, and after that we were inseparable. Until the war started, at least, and the draft was called. 'Every able bodied man has a duty to his country,'" Steve quoted, "'Enlist, fight against the Nazi menace.' Bucky was assigned to the 107th division, airborne, shipped out a few months later after weeks of boot camp. From there... It's pretty obvious what happened."      

"Tell me about Bucky, then," Natasha said. "Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes."    

"For one thing, he hated it when people called him James. He thought it was too formal and old fashioned, but it suited him just as much as Bucky did. He was always laughing, too. Except when he was pulling me out of the trash. He'd tell jokes to the girls, charm his way into discounts at the local diner... Double dates always ended with him and a girl on each arm, but I didn't mind. We shared an apartment in Brooklyn- he worked at a car factory, and I had a job at an art store. I got a discount on supplies- Bucky always told me that if one of us got back to school, I should go for art, but we were too poor to ever really do it. Off days were Coney Island days- he made me ride the Cyclone once..."      

Steve trailed off, a half-smile still on his face. Natasha leaned into the couch, letting the gentle memories wash over her in sepia and black and white, the boyhood of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. It sounded nice, no matter what he said. Then again, she didn't have much to compare it with.      

"Feeling better?" she asked.      

"Yeah, actually," Steve murmured. "Thanks, Natasha. For listening. I don't think I've ever talked to anyone about that before."        

"No problem, Cap. Maybe we should do this more often."        

Abruptly Steve pulled out his sketchbook, the one he doodled in whenever he was bored on assignment. He flipped to the middle and showed Natasha the pencil sketch lovingly drawn on the cream page.        

It was a young man, with full lips and a wicked gleam in his eyes, dark hair that one hand swept through rakishly. Steve's ability to capture his friend mid-motion was incredible, but that wasn't what gave Natasha pause. It was the sudden, nagging feeling of déjà vu that washed over her like a tidal wave when she looked at the picture, at the face of Bucky Barnes, a man with no living close relations and who had been dead since before Natasha was born.      

So why was his picture not immediately foreign to her?          

She told Steve is was a great drawing, and asked if he wanted takeout for dinner. When he didn't comment she went on her own, pictures of Bucky Barnes already loading on her phone as she walked through the dark Paris streets. When they got back from Paris, Natasha went straight to the Smithsonian after dropping Steve at his apartment, mind buzzing with the incident at the hotel. Steve's drawing still occupied her mind, and when she strode over to the Bucky Barnes info board she saw that it was a perfect likeness of the man himself. He was smiling in few of the photos surrounding his biography, but there was a five second looped clip of him and Steve in front of an old warehouse, and Bucky said something that caused a grin brighter than the sun to spread across Steve's face. Both men were laughing and smiling like they were back in Brooklyn or on Coney Island. Natasha studied very aspect of his face, intricately, intimately, and could find no reason for the fact that she found the picture of him critically surveying a landscape so familiar, the unhappy set of his jaw, the determination in his eyes, the way he cradled his gun casually against his chest.    

When she left she still was not satisfied, and the feeling that she knew him was only stronger. Images flashed before her, memories, painted in red.      

 _"James."_      

 All of a sudden her phone beeped, buzzing in the pocket of her flower dress- she was still in her cloths from the Paris mission, having rushed there straight off the plane without a word. When she checked the messages, she saw Hill’s encrypted number. She sighed as she opened the text.        

 _Where R U? Triskellion. Debriefing._         

Natasha slid the phone off and tucked it back in her pocket. She took one last look at the picture of James Buchanan Barnes, shook off the mental unsettling, and walked out of the museum.

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**Triskellion**

"I get shot at and Fury sends you two to Paris for lattes," Clint grumbled when Natasha approached, showing off his cut forehead as he cleaned the compound bow in his lap. He must have just gotten back, then, too.        

"That's what you get for a one-month leave of absence," Natasha goaded, although they both knew that Clint needed longer than that after what Loki did to him- made him do. The only reason he was called back was because Fury didn't trust the mission to anyone else.      

"Four month- as soon as I'm debriefed I'm heading back to Fiji," Clint declared, rubbing the cloth along his bow fondly as Natasha took a seat beside him on the bench outside the debriefing room. "Have fun with Captain Handsome-but-Depressed as your partner. How’s he doing, anyway?"      

"He finally got around to the stages of grief," Natasha murmured. "The shock of the invasion so soon after waking up just delayed it. He's spent at least four of his five free days so far at the cemetery."      

"Yeah, well, I can relate."        

Clint had only visited the graves of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents lost in the NY battle once. Natasha knew he had memorized every name- he had killed too many of them himself. It was something that would haunt him forever, but that didn't mean he would stew over it until it hurt him more than it already did.        

"Maybe he'd appreciate a visit, then."      

"Not happening, even if Fury ordered me to- instead of getting you to do it," Clint shook his head. "Cap's gotta figure this out on his own."      

"Have fun in Fiji, then."      

"You could always join me- you have enough 'psychological distress'  brownie points."      

"Maybe next time," Natasha murmured, fingers toying with the arrow necklace. Clint smiled sadly, then followed Agent Sitwell's voice into the debriefing room, leaving Natasha alone in the long empty hallway.

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"So, Agent Romanoff," Sitwell said, leafing through field report she wrote and submitted on the plane. "You described the mission as 'uneventful?'"        

"Yes, because it was," Natasha said, already over Sitwell and they were less than sixty seconds into the debrief.        

"Please recount what happened in your own words- every detail."        

Like from a script, every single time. Because everything had to be recorded for the bureaucrats even if it was going to be buried later.      

"Captain Rogers and I arrived in Paris at 1500, checked into the hotel, and found our target three blocks from the Hilton at the Cafe Blanche by the Seine. We ordered coffee, played the happy couple, and waited. Everything was going according to plan. At 1700, the target left looking nervous- our intel said that he was supposed to meet a potential under the table buyer who obviously hadn't shown. One block away he started to run. The Captain and I caught him one block later, subdued him in an alley without witnesses, and took him back to the hotel to wait. The concierge who took us up was an undercover agent, so no civilian witnesses. I interrogated him- no visible damage- and got the name of the terrorist contact he was supposed to meet, among others. Then I called for extraction, wiped the man and called him a car to take him to his hotel. Then I went out for dinner, the Captain and I slept, and this morning caught our flight home."        

"And that's all?"        

"Like I said, 'uneventful.'"        

Sitwell looked over the edge of his glasses, let the folder fall shut.        

"Then let's move on to the partner evaluation."        

Yippee.        

Natasha tried not to roll her eyes, because she knew Fury would see this- if he wasn't watching right now- and that it was about time someone told S.H.I.E.L.D. that Steve was 100% ready to be let loose. S.H.I.E.L.D. would never stop spying, but they wouldn't have to be so obvious about it, and Steve could get some peace.      

"How would you describe Captain Rogers in the field?"      

"Effective."        

"Did he ever seem distracted during the mission?"        

Natasha didn't care for Sitwell, but knew better than to lie.      

"Yes, when conversation strayed to his days before this century, particularly pertaining to Bucky Barnes."      

Sitwell's pen flew.      

"Would you say that this distraction was detrimental to the mission or indicative of a future problem?"      

"No. Captain Rogers recovered as soon as the target moved- he actually spotted him first. He is lonely, but well-adjusted to his new life and in no way hindered by his memories."      

"How would you classify your working relationship with Captain Rogers?"        

Fury would love this.      

Natasha smiled. "Therapeutic."      

Sitwell paused and looked at her to see if it was a joke. A carefully neutral expression replaced Natasha’s smile, and he jotted down a last note.        

"Do you have anything to declare before you are dismissed?"        

"No."        

"Then you are dismissed."          

"Thank you."  

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Natasha's own words echoed in her head as she drove away from the Triskellion, Steve's face refusing to leave her thoughts as much as Bucky’s.      

 _“Lonely.”_     

But there wasn't much more she could do, except be therefor him as much as possible and try to help him set aside his grief. According to reports, he hadn't even tried to develop any sort of relationship with Agent 13, who was undercover as a nurse living across from him. Fury had hoped she might help Steve acclimate to partial-civilian life, but so far the reports had been depressingly bare.      

Deciding that she wasn't quite ready to go back to her apartment- it wasn't home, really, just a private place because she couldn't live at SHIELD headquarters permanently- Natasha flipped out her phone.      

 _You up for another mission?_ She texted Steve. _Top priority, just came up_.        

 _Where?_ Came his reply. Natasha smiled and sent him an ice cream emoji.      

 _Bocatto Gelato & Expresso. 2200.    _  

After a twelve-hour flight and debrief, Natasha wondered if Steve was still as restless as she was.        

When she arrived at the massive shop, Steve was already there, dark civilian cloths blending in to the partial darkness between street lamps. His hands were deep in his pockets, but when he saw her he straightened up and smiled.      

"You know, this whole 'therapy' thing doesn't usually involve ice team," he said when she walked up.      

She opened the door for him. "This isn't therapy."      

"No?"      

"No, this is two friends having gelato at midnight."      

Steve got Strawberry and peanut butter, and Natasha got a waffle cone with mint chocolate chip, double fudge brownie, and caramel sauce. They sat at a corner booth and ate, and talked, and no one paid them any attention because they didn't look like Avengers, just two tired people with a lot to say and no need to say it.

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**One Month Later**

Natasha had been on two more missions since she and Steve's gelato excursion, both without him. It was bad enough not seeing Clint while he was on leave- she knew he would come back, and they had sworn not to worry over each other a long time ago- but only glimpsing Steve occasionally was more unpleasant that Natasha was willing to admit. She'd been working for S.H.I.E.L.D. for almost seven years, but Clint was the only person she was truly close to. And now, evidently, Steve.      

Having friends... What a novel concept for the Red Room agent with less time spent as a normal person that their resident man out of time did. And that was all well and good for her, realizing that she was starting to have semi-normal relationships, but only when she wasn't thinking about how many real friends Steve had, not counting their thrown-together time bomb of the Avengers.      

The fact was, Steve was lonely. He was so cripplingly lonely that when Natasha rolled up in the car one afternoon and saw him talking to someone without a look of apprehension or a guarded expression, she wanted to leap up and dance for joy, maybe do a pirouette on top of the car.

“Hey,” she called, leaning across the seat towards them. “Can either of you point me towards the Smithsonian? I’m looking for a fossil.”

Steve got that tired, “The fossil joke again, really?” look on his face, but Natasha was grinning and the other man, dark skin beaded with sweat, seemed to think it was pretty funny, too. Then Steve slid in he _waved_ to the man, and smiled, and cracked a joke. Natasha even responded to the stranger's wit before they pulled away, memorizing his face for future reference.      

"A friend of yours?" she asked as they drove towards the Triskellion, darting a glance at him. He was still smiling broadly, though the sun in his expression was fading the closer they got to the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.        

"I hope so."          

That was more telling than anything, even as they rode the rest of the way in silence, and a small glow worked its way into Natasha's chest. No one was more aware of how lonely Steve was than himself, and while Natasha had a lifetime of being alone, Steve had the shock of the last few months. After New York, and Paris, and now this.... Natasha never thought that she would be close to anyone but Clint, her first relationship with anyone not clouded by missions or the Red Room, her first real human connection, and that was facilitated by extenuating circumstances.        

Now she was in a car with Steve, still solitary, still a spy but this time on the side of the good guys, and Steve trusted her with his loneliness.      

She hoped he would continue to trust her, even after he found out about Project Insight.

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It had been too many years- the last time she saw him without the mask had been a friendly moment, and by the time they met again he was a concealed enemy who shot her through the stomach to reach his target. His face had long slipped from her memory except for brief sensations- full lips brushing hers, long hair tickling her shoulders, stubble rough beneath her fingers.      

The Winter Soldier was a stranger to her after more than eight years apart, after she got out and tried to find him, but couldn't. So she joined S.H.I.E.L.D. and tried to forget things done in the dark, the only other person who truly knew her during the Red Room period of her long life. Knew what had been done to her, as it had been done to him.      

Now he was back, standing in the middle of the street staring at Steve in confusion as he asked in a voice that sent shivers down Natasha's spine, "Who the hell is Bucky?"    

 _"James."_    

James Buchannan Barnes.      

It was with horrifying clarity that she connected the twisted web of their lives, putting two and two together in the middle of a burning street with the Winter Soldier charging at Captain America and-      

No, Steve was out, and now he was coming at her.        

Natasha shoved the shock of the revelations out of her mind as she took out a portable Widow Bite and prepared to meet him. Prepared to meet a ghost, a legend, a lover, an assassin. An enemy.

If they got out of this, she was going to have hell to pay.

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**Hydra**

The way he stared at Pierce… such a blank look, but also incredibly trusting, ridiculous for someone in his line of work. Then again, for almost seventy years “Bucky” had had no one to trust but Hydra, nothing to go on in that empty head of his but whatever they told him.

“I… knew him,” the man formerly known as Bucky Barnes said blankly, brow furrowed in confusion. Pierce could practically see the gears in his mind twisting and turning, damaged after so many years of memory-wipes and cryo-sleep. “The man on the bridge. I knew him.”

It was almost a shame, watching the great Winter Soldier simply accept another memory wipe, after he had begun to remember things that would have turned him against his handlers forever.

But it was also beautiful, because even S.H.I.E.L.D.’s star-spangled dog couldn’t compare to theirs.

“You remember him from a mission,” Pierce said simply, feigning honesty as only one who dedicated their life to loyal deceit could. “Your mission on Monday concerned a friend of his, and you crossed paths. Nothing more.”

It wasn’t enough, Pierce could see. The soldier’s frown deepened, but still he didn’t move or contradict Pierce. The doctor was right- he _had_ been out of cryo too long. Pierce had always been careful to only give him a few days at most, judging by the old files and Soviet records that had come with the Winter Soldier when Pierce became one of Hydra’s modern heads. The Winter Soldier was their strongest asset, but he was also their most delicate, and Pierce in all the time he’d been using the Soldier had seen no reason to test his endurance out of cryo.

“Wipe him,” Pierce said, ignoring the Winter Soldier’s sharp look. As he got up from the stool, he brushed the front of his coat and straightened his tie. He had a meeting to get to. “Be thorough this time.”

The soldier didn’t resist as he was pushed back onto the table, and took the mouth guard obediently. When the doctor’s hand hovered over the switch, Pierce saw the emptiness in the soldier’s eyes and smiled. Even as the shocks wracked his brain, there was nothing there but emptiness and pain, and the latter would be gone as soon as he was put back to sleep.

“Give him a few hours of sleep when he wakes up, then send him out again. It’s about time Hydra stopped hiding in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s shadow.”

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She didn't know how to tell Steve.      

So when they had escaped the wreckage in the street and Bucky disappeared, she didn't tell him at all.      

How could she? Just go up to him and say "Sorry, Captain, but you should probably know that for the majority of my life working as a spy I knew the Winter Soldier and we were kind of a thing, but then I escaped and couldn't find him but now it turns out that he's an old friend of yours back from the dead, which means whoever was controlling him probably found him in ice like you, brainwashed him, and stuck him in cryo. Oh and did I mention the mind-wipes? That's a thing intelligence agencies do, they did it to me and in all the time I was a spy I had to re-meet Bucky about seven times because I happen to be genetically modified with the infinity serum which no one actually knows exists, meaning I’m actually twice as old as I look."        
No, not the greatest idea. But it answered so many questions- while asking too many more.      

 _Was_ he too far gone to save? Natasha hadn't been, but the Winter Soldier had gone through more than her, for longer. Did he remember her? Evidently not, but now that he was back, that they had the chance to finally help him-      

_No._

She couldn't entertain those thoughts. Odds were that at the end of the day, they would have to put a bullet in his brain. What she knew was irrelevant to that fact.        

When they found out it was Hydra- it was _always_ Hydra- that only made the pain in her chest worse. Bucky had given his life fighting Hydra, and he had spent the last seventy years doing their dirty work. Natasha's scant memories of their time together withered at the news.      

She should have tried harder to find him the first time.      

Of course, Fury- now alive, after her brief grief-induced heart attack at seeing his dead body- had no vested interest in the regrets of her past, only their consequences, so when he approached Steve about the possibility of Bucky not being the type you save, Natasha didn't voice her disagreement.        

In fact, she said nothing at all. If Bucky died, there was no point in her story, and telling it now wouldn't help any of them.        

"I don't care what it takes- I'll save him," Steve declared. "I won't lose him a second time."        

Her hands clenched. _Neither will I._

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They lost him, and they lost S.H.I.E.L.D., Fury- thankfully just to anonymity- their privacy, and their homes along with him.

The fallout of the “Winter Soldier Incident” was legendary, massive on any scale and while Natasha did not regret her decision to make S.H.I.E.L.D./Hydra’s files public, it was more difficult than she let Steve know in the following weeks. Losing her old identities, having all of the red in her ledger laid bare for the world to see, came with its own psychological ramifications, along with political ones, as the U.N. and several world governments weren’t just going to leave the infamous Black Widow alone now that they had all of her intel. Or at least, all of the intel they managed to scrape up before the U.S. government put up new firewalls and blocked off the onslaught of information, though by that time a fair portion was already circulating in the cloud and would never be truly erased.

While she dealt with White House hearings and various foreign governments demanding her head on a platter and her new position as S.H.I.E.L.D.’s sole defender with Coulson dead, Fury gone, and Maria Hill defecting to Stark Industries, she allowed herself the small, exhilarating comfort of creating a new identity for herself.

It was the first time it was truly her choice.

“You could keep the first name, though,” Steve said as they stood by Fury’s gravestone, having said their “last goodbyes” to him before he drove away in a battered red minivan that begged Natasha to crack a soccer mom joke. But she didn’t- she wasn’t free enough to do that, to make the choice to be herself. Not yet. “It suits you. At least, from where I’m standing it does.”

“You’ve never known me as anyone else,” she smiled, knowing full well that he avoided reading through the released files as religiously as he ignored the historians and journalists clamoring for him to read their WWII books and accept interviews.

Steve shrugged. “I like Natasha, and I think you do, too. It’s not so easy to change yourself.”

“I know,” she smiled. In truth, she was reluctant to make a name change, no matter how important it was to keep a low profile as soon as the media circus and diplomatic crises abated. Natasha Romanoff had done things she was not proud of, but at least it was her- she couldn’t leave behind her old life entirely this time, now that she wasn’t ordered to completely erase herself to make way for Natalie Rushman or Tatiana Steele or any of her other, numerous aliases.

“So, what will you do now?” she asked, shoving her hands in the pockets of the leather jacket. “Your apartment kind of got shot up, and S.H.I.E.L.D. can’t lend you a safehouse.”

“Well, thanks to Tony I figured out that after seventy years the interest accumulated in my bank account after it was reinstated was… a lot. And being an American hero has its perks, but DC isn’t really my place anymore. Tony keeps texting me about moving into Avengers Tower- I think he misses Dr. Banner- but I think I might go back to Brooklyn for a while.”

“I don’t know, I might take Stark up on that offer. With S.H.I.E.L.D. gone- and I hate to say this- he’s the guy with the big guns. You’ll need help to find Bucky.” She smiled knowingly at his surprised expression. “Come on, we both know you’re ready to go running off now- you just don’t know where to start.”

“Then now is as good a time as ever to ask you to come with me and Sam,” Steve said. Natasha’s eyebrows raised, and she looked to be genuinely considering it for a moment.

“He’s your friend, and needs help, but I need to deal with my own shitstorm first. After I convince the U.N. not to imprison me for the rest of my potentially very long life, I’m going underground. Maybe I’ll visit Fury in Europe, but I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for any word that might help.”

Steve looked disappointed as they shook hands, but he was still smiling and she knew he understood. “Thanks. Good luck.”

“You too,” she said. For half a second they stood simply looking at each other, before they closed the distance between them and wrapped their arms around each other. The hug was short, and understated, but each was surprised by the strength of the other’s arms and the reassurance that flowed through the contact. Natasha hadn’t hugged anyone in a long time.

“You’ll find him, Steve,” she said when they broke apart, still hovering close to his bulk.

“Just make sure I’m able to find you when this whole thing is over, too,” Steve insisted.

“I’ll stay in touch. I think I like Natasha, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that was chapter one. Very choppy but that’s how the rest of the story is going to be, at this point. Please leave me any questions, comments, concerns, things you liked or didn’t, things you think I should change or would like to see, in a review!Thanks for coming on this journey with me- I look forward to it :)  
> Review!


	2. Survival and Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Bucky. This chapter will be short and sweet, but don’t worry- these first few chapters are mostly just to establish a background for the rehabilitating!Bucky and Family!Avengers fluff/angst/drama that is to come.  
> WARNING: accidental violence towards animals in this chapter, one, in particular. Not extremely graphic, not with malicious intent.

_“Bucky?”_

_Something inside the Winter Soldier broke, a resounding tone, clear as a bell, vibrating through him with the intensity of a speeding bullet. He knew that name. He didn’t know anything, wasn’t allow to know anything, but he knew that name._

_“Who the hell is Bucky?” The words felt wrong in his mouth but that didn’t stop his finger from pulling the trigger repeatedly. When there was a mission to fulfill, thinking came later, between extraction and the cryo-tube._

_As he ran through the burning streets towards the man, the Winter Solider wondered fleetingly, randomly, if he had ever dreamed._

The Winter Soldier stared at the Smithsonian’s Captain America exhibit, at a loss, and felt like he was still strapped to the table, lightning chipping away at his memories until they were nothing. Once upon a time, according to the wall of text, he had been someone. According to the video, he had been a friend that made Captain America laugh with a few words. He had been a brave soul who “Gave his life in service of his country.”

The audio commentary of the tour guide behind him reached his enhanced ears.

_“Numerous historians have dedicated their careers to the Howling Commandos, and with the discovery of Captain America less than two years ago, books and documentaries pertaining to one Commando in particular have dominated historical interest. Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes-”_

People had studied the life of this dead man, had published books on him. The Winter Soldier was anonymous, but he saw his face in a museum exhibit and it was the face of a man who was _known_. Something inside of him shifted when he realized who he was- that he didn’t wear the face of a dead man, but was the name brought back to life. James Buchannan Barnes. The only member of the Howling Commandos to give his life for his country.

James Buchannan Barnes.

_“Who the hell is Bucky?”_

What had been done to him that he remembered nothing of what the narrator of the Smithsonian biography film said? How was it that there was a life with his name on it, and all he remembered was damp stone, the cool sides of the stasis chamber, the stabbing, prickling pain of the shocks wiping his memory of unnecessary information after each mission? Phantom pains from a limb he was not supposed to ever have had.

He needed answers. After learning that he had been out seventy years, that he was literally in the wrong time period but unable to remember any period specifically, there was only one place he could start.

Home. It was a word that didn’t fit anymore, but he hadn’t been grown in a tube, hadn’t always been Hydra. He must have started somewhere.

The man formerly known as the Winter Soldier pulled his baseball cap lower and shuffled out past a large group of tourists. His metal fingers clenched in his pocket, feeling naked without a knife or a gun. He grabbed a brochure on the way out.

_“Who the hell is Bucky?”_

According to the museum, someone who had lived in Brooklyn.

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There was nothing there.

The address listed as his and Captain America’s was gone, all of the places mentioned in the Smithsonian absent, and he was left again with less than what he started with. Brooklyn was not hard to reach- he was not incompetent, knew the basics of modern technology, but that did not mean it was comfortable having to blend with civilians. The Winter Soldier knew how to be at ease in a crowd, James Barnes had never felt anything but ease in a crowd, but now he was neither and the crush of people was almost unbearable.

He was painfully aware in more ways than one that he was different, and something in the back of his mind, a small, slithering voice, told him that he was better. He should not have to walk with lesser beings, who couldn’t comprehend the magnitude of his importance shaping their lives, their century.

Then he remembered the look of a dead man in Captain America’s eyes, realized that his target would not fight back, and he knew, somehow, that the voice was wrong.

Brooklyn held nothing for him, and the news had informed him of the fall of his agency- Hydra. The name made him want to vomit, though he didn’t know why; he had never heard it before. He didn’t think he needed to, at the time. But they were gone, and there was no one coming for him.

So he returned to the only other place he knew, leaving behind the ruins of a forgotten life and apprehensively taking a step towards a new one, because he was a Soldier and he had no orders. Because he always returned, and in the absence of somewhere to return to, he had the next best thing.

His last target.

Steven Grant Rogers.

Captain America.

He tried not to kill anyone on the journey back, and was pleasantly surprised when he succeeded.

Surprised, because he had never thought of not killing anyone as a pleasant thing before.

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It took three months for them to find him, and it was only because Bucky had never spent longer than a week awake, never had enough time to learn anything except the context of his missions and a brief overview of the current decade. The memory wipes made things all the easier- there were no preconceptions of the present to battle as he was given high-tech equipment and told to become invisible in a digital world.

At least, that’s what he assumed, since all accounts confirmed the time he had been born in was very, very different from the place he had woken up.

In this world he had to skulk in alleys and steal cloths, there were no handlers looking out for him, no stasis chamber to return to before living became difficult. “Difficult” did not begin to describe what he was currently experiencing.

“Alright, we’ll leave you alone, man!” one of the degenerates pleaded, arm upraised in defense as he curled the broken one against his chest. On the ground his comrade was bleeding profusely from a blow to the head- he hadn’t meant to hit so hard, but the man was malnourished and had gone flying into one of the alley’s brick walls.

Bucky- he had no other name for himself, even though “Bucky” didn’t fit right and he didn’t feel it ever would- stood over the beggar who had dared to attack him, thinking the dirty, hooded stranger who slept behind the dumpster would be an easy target. He had scared the man enough, and possibly killed his friend. The message had been sent.

_“Who the hell is Bucky?”_

Someone who didn’t kill for no reason, he had learned that much.

He let the man and his comrade stumble away, swearing to never bother him again. Bucky fell back against the dumpster with growl of pain, arm flying to his stomach now that he no longer had to look strong.

Weeks of eating fatty, processed food stolen or scavenged had left him in even worse condition than he was in already, considering that in the initial days following the fall of Hydra- his handlers, he had to remind himself- he had eaten nothing at all. The concepts of food and drink had been irrelevant to someone who was sustained while in cryo, and was never awake long enough to starve thanks to feeding tubes and tasteless energy packets that were akin to gasoline for a car. Now he turned and heaved up the cheeseburger he had been lucky enough to find that morning.

When he saw the blood after wiping his mouth, his stomach clenched.

Blood. For all the other basic knowledge he was lacking, he knew that puking up blood couldn’t be a good sign.

 _Find Captain America_ , some part of him whispered, the part that hadn’t shut up between hunting for food and beating off thugs and wandering aimlessly through DC looking for something that would inspire him to be the man Captain America thought he was, now that Hydra’s tool was gone.

Yes, find Captain America, _beg_ him to help. If they had been friends once, surely he wouldn’t hesitate. And yet… even the man Bucky thought he had been before shrank from the idea of begging. The man he was now was too paranoid to go to a stranger who to his mind a few days ago was a target.

Wandering for months did not sustain him, did not restore the sense of purpose whose absence had been devouring him. It did, however, after the hundredth nightmare of bullets and screaming, phantom pains from a time before the metal weapon attached to his shoulder, lead him to finally realize that he was no longer the Winter Soldier.

But in losing that identity, he had only taken a new name to avoid complete anonymity. The idea of embracing that name as himself, of acknowledging what had happened to him, was too daunting to be considered. How could he, after all he had done? He had only snatches- snow, mountains, a train, then German voices and darkness and unimaginable cold. He had no recollection other than mental images of dead bodies of what he had done in the seventy years since, but he knew it was bad.

Horrifying. And yet… he knew that those memories, the violence he just committed, didn’t bother him nearly as much as it should.

The sun was setting, so he moved to a different alley, found a new dumpster to hide behind, and made a pillow out of the stolen sweatshirt. He closed his eyes.

_“James Barnes, Sergeant, 3-2-5-5-7-”_

_“Bucky?”_

_“James Barnes, Sergeant, 3-2-5-5-7-”_

_“Oh my God, Bucky! What the hell did they do to you?”_

_Something._

_Something different- someone not German standing over him, not wearing a white lab coat or glasses, not carrying another needle. Someone big and blonde with eyes as clear as the summer sky over New York City-_

_“S-steve?” he rasped, trying to reconcile his tiny friend back home with the hulking soldier grabbing his shoulder and hauling him off the table._

_“I thought you were dead,” Steve said, supporting him when he almost stumbled. It was a miracle he could walk after what they did, but then, Steve would have no idea._

_“I thought you were smaller.”_

_“Yeah, well, a lot’s happened since you shipped out.”_

_“Tell me about it.”_

Pressure on his chest, a rustling noise. Danger.

_The body falls with a barely perceptible thud, blood pooling from the sickly red smile in the woman’s throat. Its dark fingers spread across the off-white carpet, staining the front of her dress and dripping into one of the vents on the floor._

_She had almost screamed- he had been too slow. Someone warned her- she hadn’t looked surprised when she came. The gun in her hand only confirmed the theory that she had been expecting him._

_No one knew about this mission but his handlers, and the intel they gave him when he woke up did not suggest that anyone else was interested in the target-_

_“Mrs. Williams, we need to get you out of here-”_

_At the voice from the other room the Winter Soldier quickly retreated to the window, sheathing his knife and preparing to scale out of the building. A flash of red in the corner of his eye forced him to look back- straight into the clear green eyes of a woman he should have been familiar with._

_The woman’s mouth opened in surprise, eyebrows raising at the sight of him halfway outside. She was wearing cloths very similar to his- dark and practical for a mission where invisibility was key- and had a knife in one of her boots, two guns strapped to thigh holsters, bright red hair pulled back into a controlled braid._

_Despite the shared shock at the presence of the other, neither of them moved for a fraction of a second. Then the woman’s hand whipped to her side and her gun was pointed at his head, and he was shooting out of the window._

_“Wait, James!”_

_It was only afterward that he realized what she had said, but his handlers said that he had nothing to worry about. She was only a Red Room spy, and irrelevant since he had killed the target before she had been able to protect the woman. After the mind-wipe, it wouldn’t matter._

Rustling again, and more pressure on his chest, forcing away the fog of sleep just as a different memory, one of screaming and bullets and blood, took over-

_“Get out there, men!” their leader ordered, straining to be heard over the whizzing bullets and mortar fire. The Hydra base was better protected than they thought, and the troops they were supposed to be fighting had proved much better equipped. They were using weapons like no one had ever seen before._

_Bucky clutched his gun to his chest._

_Steve was safe back home, probably dancing with a different dame every night now that Bucky was gone and there was nothing better to do. Good- it was about time he got out of his comfort zone._

_Something blue, blue like Steve’s pencils when he drew the summer sky from when they were kids, shot over Bucky’s head. One of Hydra’s crazy high-tech laser guns._

_“Let’s go!” That was the final call._

_Into the jaws of death._

_Steve better have a hell of a girlfriend to show for this._

_Bucky jumped over the natural barricade, trigger finger going a mile a minute, blood bursting in front of his eyes. Everywhere smelled like smoke, everyone’s battle cries turned to screams-_

“ _Aaaaggghhhh_!” Bucky shot up, chest heaving, body coated in sweat, and lunged at whatever it was that had dared to venture too near him. In the darkness it was a jumble of shadows and when he moved, wrenched from his nightmare, one of the shadows screeched. In a jolt his hands were around it, metal fingers squeezing until there was a twist and a snap, and the shadow lay still.

What was once warm cooled in his human hand, and when Bucky moved out from behind the dumpster to let the streetlights in he saw the lump of fur in his hands.

A cat.

“Just a cat…” he rasped, letting it fall as he hung his head. His chest heaved as the memories faded, hands clenched at his sides.

How long had it been since he last spoke?

That night, he moved again to avoid the body of the small sandy cat that happened to choose the wrong dumpster, but no matter where he wandered he couldn’t go back to sleep. The target’s- no, Steve’s- face haunted him, those blue eyes penetrating his soul, lips pulled into a frown when Bucky thought about the cat. Everywhere he looked he saw red, but couldn’t decide it if was hair or blood or something else until he began coughing again and shivering for no reason, and this time the blood that spattered his lips was dangerously real.

He wondered if he was dying. If death was like sleep, as many said, then he would rather avoid it- the snatches of memory that invaded his dreams were illuminating and also excruciatingly painful. He had no way to measure how much they had taken from him, how much of what he remembered was able to fill in the seventy-plus-year gap. For all he knew, the memories had a thousand more nights to haunt him with, and in death an infinity.

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It took them three months to find him, and when they finally did, it was because fate- or God, as Steve said, or Cosmic Irony, Tony remarked, before Natasha said the “why” was inconsequential- dropped him into their laps. Or rather, shoved him in their faces.

Literally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOHHH CLIFFHANGER I AM SO MEAN.  
> Next chapter, Avengers Assemble! And… figure out what to do with Steve’s crazy boyfriend :P  
> Review!


	3. Retrieval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is really short because otherwise it would have been too ridiculously long to post. For those of you waiting for Avengers shenanigans- they’re coming, but this chapter and the one after it are still mostly Bucky/Nat/Steve/Tony, so bear with me.

“Steve?

“Steve, are you there? I need you.

“ _Bucky_ needs you.”

“Did you find him? What’s going on? Where are you?”

“3 East 53rd Street, by Paley Park.”

“53rd? But that’s…”

“That’s what?”

“…nothing. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I’ll call to make sure Stark has everything set up. And Steve? Hurry.”

Natasha snapped the phone shut and glanced down at the super-soldier leaning half-conscious against the low park wall. His face was pale, red dotting his lips where she could see behind his curtain of greasy hair. His metal fingers clutched the stone, everything else obscured by the thick sweatshirt, but Natasha knew that there would be new bruises and plenty of scars dancing on his chest.

He coughed once, half-closed eyelids fluttering, and that was the only warning Natasha got before he collapsed completely. She lunged and managed to get him under the arm, keeping him from face-planting on the pavement. A group of teenagers passed by and gave her strange looks, but she gave them her best danger face and they quickly walked on with one last curious glance at the woman in a business coat and heels and someone that looked like a drunk hobo.

“Come on, soldier,” Natasha muttered as she supported him, glancing around for Steve. She maneuvered them back against the wall, where Bucky could lean and they were partially hidden by the low-growing trees, wondering why today of all days she had to be the one to find him, and closer to home than either she or Steve could have imagined. Fresh out of her last U.N. hearing- she was finally cleared of all charges, thanks in part to her friends at Stark Industries and the amount of crises she’d averted in the past on behalf of the civilized world- and she managed to walk into the second most widely-discussed topic of the past few months. At least Steve and Sam wouldn’t have so much traveling to do now.

“Stark?” she said into the phone, supporting Bucky with the other arm. She didn’t want to think about how much weight the metal arm added to her burden.

“What can I do, Natasha?”

“We found Bucky.”

There was silence from the other end of the line for so long that Natasha thought he might have hung up, or simply gone back to sleep.

“…shit.”

“Steve is on his way to get us- have everything ready in the next five minutes, he needs medical care.”

This time, Tony did hang up, no clever quip or joke to be heard. Natasha sighed and stowed her phone in one of the pockets of the classy dark jacket.

It was not a moment too soon, for just as her hand lifted to brush a loose strand of hair out of her eyes two bright headlights pulled over, the large black car sliding to a halt next to them. One of the tinted windows rolled down to reveal Steve, face a mask of anxiety until he saw Bucky. To Natasha, he looked like he had seen a ghost and been punched in the gut all at once.

“Get in!” he ordered, and one of the side doors opened. Natasha quickly- and with much jostling- got Bucky into the car, taking care with his wounds as she let him lean against the opposite window. Then she slammed the door shut, went around, and took Steve’s place in the driver’s seat. As soon as he was settled in the back with the unconscious Bucky, she stepped on the gas.

“Stark is ready for us,” she said as she wove through traffic, going as fast as she possibly could without increasing the likelihood of death by car accident over 60%.

“What happened? How did you find him?” Steve asked, eyes glued to Bucky’s prone form. He looked like he wanted to cry or embrace Bucky, but he did neither.

“Later- let me concentrate on getting us to the tower.”

“Yes ma’am.”

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When Cap arrived, Tony had no idea what to expect. He only knew what Hydra had prepared him for, what his father’s scarce but exhilarating stories of the Howling Commandos had taught him.

He had not expected this.

He had not expected a call from Natasha in the middle of the night telling him to get the Cage ready because she and the Captain were on their way with one genetically modified super-soldier assassin. Still, he got out of bed thankful that Pepper was still in France on business and hurried down to the basement to prep the Big Guy’s room. Tony didn’t think he’d mind lending it out for a few weeks while he was still in India.

He was just finishing setting up the IV when JARVIS pulled up a screen on the far wall.

“Captain Rogers and Miss Romanoff have arrived, sir,” he said alongside footage from the lobby. Bucky was between Cap and Natasha as they hobbled towards the elevator, faces like death.

“Allow elevator access Basement 2,” Tony ordered. Less than thirty seconds after the elevator doors in the lobby closed, those across from Tony opened, and the trio spilled out.

“What is all this?” Steve demanded as he took in the basement aka Bruce’s panic room, eyes narrowing at the sight of the giant cell Tony was currently standing in the middle of. A cell that looked suspiciously like the one on the main helicarrier.

"Chill out, Capsicle- we can’t be too careful. Besides, right now this is a hospital."

“That doesn’t change the fact that it was a cage,” Steve argued, refusing to set foot inside the cell, even though the entire inside had been converted into a medical facility that would put any S.H.I.E.L.D. hospital to shame.

“Now isn’t the time, Steve,” Natasha snapped, and that seemed to get his attention. Steve looked at her once unhappily, but when Natasha moved into the cell he followed her lead, and they deposited Bucky on the table together.

"Strap him in- I'll get an IV started," Tony said, and to his surprise they did, fastening the thick cuffs specially created to keep a superhuman contained. Tony had hoped he’d get a few more weeks to perfect them, but then he didn’t think any of them had expected Bucky to just fall into their laps so soon after the fall of Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D.

Bucky moaned suddenly through bloodstained lips, brow furrowing, closed eyes twitching. One frail- well, relatively speaking- hand reached desperately before falling back. Bucky's labored breathing filled the room for several grating seconds before the IV kicked in.

"Specially designed for one super assassin," Tony said proudly. It had taken him almost a month to come up with painkillers and sedatives strong enough to keep down a super soldier without stopping his heart. As soon as he heard about the Winter Soldier project- he’d jumped on S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files like his old self would have gone after a supermodel-, Tony had known Steve would need help. By the time the Captain came knocking a few days after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D., Tony had already talked to Bruce about converting his panic room into a medical safehouse and begun testing super sedatives.

It helped that Steve was now bound to accept his offer to live in Avengers Tower, rather than bunking with Sam as he had been. This was the safest place for Bucky, and therefore where Steve would be. Their bromance was literally the stuff of history books- that Tony had memorized following the incident.

Tony spent the next few minutes hooking up a nutrient and hydration needle to avoid looking at Steve.

"He looks like he hasn't eaten in weeks," Steve said softly, frowning at his friend’s blank face.

“He probably hasn’t,” Natasha said from her position leaned against the thick cell wall, arms crossed, face as empty as the comatose Bucky.

“Or at least not enough. I looked through some of the files- the serum Hydra used on him is a different strain of yours, Cap,” Tony filled in. “His base metabolic rate is as high as yours, but with none of the same chemical checks, which means while you can get by with about 8,000 calories a day, your friend the tribble needs a bit more.”

“What do you think is causing the bleeding?” Steve, Star Trek reference completely flying over his head, asked worriedly when Bucky coughed again and scarlet stained his dirty shirt. Tony checked the IV again and started taking a blood sample.

“60% of the last seventy years have been nothing but cryosleep for him, and you have to ease yourself out of those icicles- you were recovering for two days before you woke up, Cap. The shock to his system of being awake so long, combined with near starvation, is probably ripping his insides apart, not to mention wrecking havoc on his immune system. But those German bastards were efficient; he should heal in a day or two of extreme agony. Don’t look at me like that- I just did my homework.”

Steve looked less than thrilled with Tony’s assessment, but the genius didn’t berate himself for honesty. It was Steve’s choice not to read the files.

“Is there anything else we can do now?” Natasha asked, meeting Tony’s eyes.

“Nah- give him forty-eight hours and then we’ll talk. That’s assuming his physical state is only a fraction of how messed up his brain is.”

“I’m staying with him,” Steve said suddenly, turning and heading out of the cage.

“Uh, wrong way, Boy Scout-”

Steve picked up one of the lounge chairs on the other half of the lab and walked back to the cage. He set it down by the head of the bed, sat, and didn’t look at anyone but Bucky.

“Steve, are you sure-” Natasha began, concern showing on her face for the first time since they arrived.

“I thought I lost him once before. I’m not letting out of my sight this time,” he said firmly, and his tone brokered no room for argument.

“Have JARVIS alert me if you need anything,” Tony said. Easing out of the room with Natasha, he only spared one look back as they headed for the elevator. Steve had one of Bucky’s hands in his own, his head bowed, and Tony swore that he heard the sound of crying before Natasha pushed him through the open doors.

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"A yoga lounge, really?" Natasha asked as they exited the elevator on the eighth floor, mentally still in the sub-basement where the half of the room not occupied by Bucky’s cell was filled with a smoothie bar and yoga mats

“It helps the big guy calm down,” Tony shrugged, glancing momentarily at the closing elevator doors. “So, are we gonna talk about-”

“Nope,” Natasha said quickly, which confirmed Tony’s suspicions that she’d heard the beginning of Steve’s sobs, too. Tony didn’t blame the guy- Tony had cried plenty of times, between being kidnapped by terrorists, dying, almost losing Pepper, and then _actually_ dying, for the brief amount of time between catching a nuke and falling to earth. But even Steve, sensitive as he was… Tony couldn’t fathom the stress he was under right now, coupled with relief at his friend being alive.

“Do I at least get to hear about how you found him?”

Natasha took a breath, looking at Tony from across the lounge area they found themselves in. Tony had assumed she and Steve would be staying, and these were the rooms he’d specifically designed for each of the Avengers.

What could he say? He’d gotten bored after Bruce left.

“I just… ran into him,” she said at length, brow furrowing in confusion. “I was coming home from the U.N. meeting-”

“Ah, so you’re _not_ getting put in prison for the rest of your life,” Tony grinned, despite her sharp look.

“When a shadow flew at me by Paley Park. I recognized him immediately, but he was slower, and looked weak and sick. I cornered him in an alley when he just slumped over, and suddenly the Winter Soldier was gone, and it was Bucky. I think,” she said slowly, shaking her head, and Tony shivered. What were the odds? “All of the rage was gone, and… the look in his eyes was human again. I get the feeling that he registered me as a threat first, before realizing that he wasn’t Hydra’s weapon anymore. Months on his own- he must have learned something, enough to hesitate to keep hurting me, at least. When he collapsed, I got him to the park and called Steve. He was in no condition to fight anyone. Then we came here, and the rest you know.”

“Do we know what he was doing in DC? I mean, this guy’s been globe hopping for seventy years- shouldn’t Hydra’s homicidal homing pigeon have high-tailed it to Berlin by now?” Tony asked. He crossed his arms and leaned against the far wall, and was surprised to see Natasha sink onto the couch. It was the first time he really looked at her, noticed the dirt and tears on her nice dress suit and her split lip, the tangled mess of her hair. She looked _tired_.

Frowning, Tony wondered if he should offer her something to eat or drink. Technically she was an Avenger first and foremost, with S.H.I.E.L.D. gone, and as little as he trusted her with personal secrets, he knew enough by now to know that she was good at her job, and loyal to her allies- he didn’t dare say “friends” even if he had tenuous hopes for Earth’s Mightiest Heroes to one day be a little more than a dysfunctional time bomb. Call him sentimental.

“Who knows? I guess whatever happened on the helicarriers with Steve spooked him enough to stay in the area- close to one of the only things he remembers,” Natasha said, but even though she looked at him and didn’t waver in her conviction, Tony could tell she knew more than she was telling. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t call her out on it.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, and met her eyes unflinchingly.

“Do you have a spare room? Going under in Europe isn’t really an option for me anymore,” she said. Tony nodded and pushed away from the wall as she rose.

“Yours is at the end of the hall- I’ll show you,” he said, leading the way. “So what’s Bucky Barnes to you? I’ve got him stable, Steve is here- nothing to stop you from taking off again.”

“What is he to you?” she countered, and he resisted the urge to look back at her.

“A friend of a friend,” Tony said without hesitation, and though he didn’t hear her pause he could feel the presence behind him shrinking. Turning, he saw that she had stopped in the middle of the hall, and was looking at him with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

“‘A friend of a friend?’” she repeated.

“Yeah, it may surprise you to realize that I actually like the idea of the Avengers,” Tony said. “If you hadn’t noticed, this is a giant tower with a massive ‘A’ on it and currently, only one of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes is living here. And I think ‘ol Cap is warming up to me.”

“You’re lonely,” she said, and if it was possible sounded even more surprised than before. Her eyes softened alarmingly, but her face was hard, mouth a rigid line as she looked at him with an inscrutable expression.

Tony let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“That’s one way to put it.”

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Natasha Romanoff knew about Tony Stark. She _knew_ about him. About his daddy issues, the PTSD, the compulsive paranoia and his bunker of suits that even Pepper didn’t know about. She’d done his initial report- she was a Tony Stark expert.

But she still hadn’t quite expected this.

To have Tony fall into the same boat that until Steve came along, she and Clint had been steering alone, on their broken little sea with sharks circling and forever keeping human connection at bay... Tony, who preferred machines over people and had relied on an AI and alcohol to get him through his youth and the years before Pepper- a few after, to her distress- was _lonely_. And he was being honest with her about it.

Natasha didn’t know what to make of that, except that the compulsion to reciprocate his shared secret pulled at her for a second longer than she felt comfortable.

“I’ll ask again, Romanoff- guess I can’t call you ‘Agent’ anymore- what is Bucky Barnes to you? Because I’ve gotten better at spotting liars since Natalie Rushman joined my company,” Tony said, not necessarily hostile, but Natasha could feel the force of his curiosity and wariness rolling over her in waves.

“Steve is… a friend. And I have a history with the Winter Soldier,” she said tersely, stepping forward. Tony looked at her for a moment, shadows of the hallway playing across his eyes. He didn’t ask her to distinguish between the Winter Soldier and James Barnes.

“It’s personal,” she said. That was enough for Tony.

They didn’t talk again, even when Tony showed her the room- walls the color of Indian Plums, a fuzzy white rug in the center and a platform bed, low benches of dark wood, a small walk-in closet, viewscreen, audio strips running along the wall for JARVIS and inter-Tower communication, a low dresser and vanities with carved lamps on either side. Spartan, minimalist, but comfortable- at least, Tony hoped so. He’d left Pepper in charge of the decorating decisions for this one.

Natasha said nothing as she stepped in and looking around, taking it in. Then she turned and eased the door shut.

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“Thank you,” she said softly, and then it clicked shut. For a moment, Tony almost thought he’d imagined it.

“Sir, there is an incoming call from Dr. Banner in your lab- shall I bring it to the lounge screens?” JARVIS asked.

“Go ahead,” Tony said, steps speeding back down the hall towards the living room, where Bruce was waiting. How long had it been since they talked? Three, four days? It felt like an eternity, since Tony had gotten used to another human presence in the tower and was now alone again, oddly mournful for the loss of his organic companion.

“And try to get in touch with Thor, wherever he left the phone I gave him. Tell him ‘Assemble.’”

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Natasha sank onto the floor, back against the door, and stared around her.

The room was beautiful. More lived in than any of her other residences and everything shone brand new- no doubt it was Pepper’s doing, and Natasha felt a pang of regret that she and the striking strawberry blonde hadn’t had the chance to remain in contact once her mission at Stark Industries was complete. She’d liked her, for the brief period she’d known her- Pepper was a smart woman, if more inclined to intellectual pursuits and mental battles than Natasha’s preferred type of combat. Plus, they both spoke French.

For this room, she’d send Pepper an honest-to-God thank you note. But first, there was someone who needed her more than Tony’s no doubt exasperated girlfriend.

“Clint, it’s me,” Natasha spoke into the phone quickly and brusquely, trying not to let any emotion leak into her voice. “Europe’s canceled- Bucky showed up. He’s stabilized at Avengers Tower with me, Steve, and Tony, and I think Thor is in-bound. Sorry, but we won’t get that vacation after all. Get here as soon as you can.”

She left the message, let her phone sink to the floor, and closed her eyes.

How long had it been since she heard Clint’s voice, nearly hysterical when he saw her for the first time after S.H.I.E.L.D. fell? Bleeding, battered, exhausted, he’d had to evacuate himself from a mission when he called for backup and no one responded. When he told her later what had happened, and what being left alone by S.H.I.E.L.D. had cost him, she knew she would share his nightmares, so she’d extended her invitation to disappear overseas for a while. He was probably at the airport right now, waiting for her.

And with any luck, he’d be at the tower by morning.

“Miss Romanoff, there are cloths in the closet and dresser, and the bathroom is fully stocked,” JARVIS said in response to some unspoken desire. “Mr. Stark has asked me to tell you that tomorrow morning there will be a ‘family meeting’ over Belgian waffles.”

_Family meeting?_

Natasha pulled herself up off the ground and headed towards the door that she assumed led to the bathroom. A hot shower and hopefully pajamas that fit sounded like heaven to her right now, whatever awaited tomorrow morning, since apparently Bucky’s return was a full-blown Avengers-worthy crisis.

She stayed under the water until it burned her skin and steam rose, but the pounding of the shower on tiles and the rushing blood in her ears did nothing to erase the terrible moaning, wracking coughs that had accompanied Bucky’s blood as it dripped from his lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for Bucky being found! And… not yay for Avengers angst. Please let me know what you think of the story, how I’m handling the characters, what you think might happen, or any suggestions/comments/criticisms!  
> Also, for those of you wondering- Paley Park is where the Stork Club used to be. So… symbolism, woo.


	4. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we’re jumping right into the Avengers shenanigans, sorry if it’s moving too fast! This chapter covers… a fair amount of ground, timewise, and is partially dedicated just to setting up all the Avengers under one roof. Prepare for laborious explanations, introductions, and many “Poor Bucky” ‘s .

The next morning Natasha found Tony brooding in the kitchen with a whole pot of coffee while Clint perched on a barstool- apparently Thor and Jane were still in London and Bruce’s flight was canceled, so the “family meeting” was thankfully delayed. Tony was less than happy about it, but Steve was too busy with Bucky to probably notice the incoming storm of Avengers. Clint just seemed happy to see her.

“Don’t tell me you drove all night,” Nat said as she stole his coffee.

“Nah, I hitched a ride with Hill- apparently she was already on her way down. Something about working for Stark,” Clint said easily, although Natasha’s eyes traced the bandage on his upper arm and the fading bruises around his left eye and jaw.

“I need a new head of security for the tower since Pepper stole Happy,” Tony explained.

“How is Pepper?” Natasha asked, much to Tony’s displeasure.

“Fine. I convinced her to stay in France for a few more days.”

“Not so enthusiastic about her meeting our newest project, huh?” Clint laughed, taking back his coffee and taking a swig before Natasha could steal it again.

“If you mean the genetically modified Hydra assassin in my basement… no,” Tony frowned, one hand pushing through his hair. “Hey, Spidey, hate to ask this, but Pepper’s been kind of weird lately and-”

“If you throw a ‘female question’ at me, Stark, you’ll find yourself inexplicably covered in third degree burns,” Natasha said without even looking at him, still focused on finding a way to steal the coffee Clint was guarding jealously with both hands. Tony surreptitiously moved farther away from the coffee pot on the counter next to him.

“Ok then… so when do I get to meet this Bucky guy?” Clint asked.

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Two days passed, and Bucky responded positively to Tony’s ministrations- when Steve asked when he’d become that kind of doctor, Tony just shrugged and said he anticipated something like this and bought a small medical library. But Bucky was comatose for longer than Steve was comfortable with, and when he did wake it was in fits and starts as his body healed and began to accept the intravenous nourishment. In those forty-eight hours Steve hadn’t slept or left his side.

When it was Natasha’s turn to watch him- once she heard about Steve, Pepper laid down the law via Skype that no one was to exhaust themselves watching Bucky when there were four fully functioning Avengers in the tower to take shifts, but Tony wasn’t strong enough to take Bucky without the suit- she was less than enthused, and as she rode the elevator down to replace Steve apprehension clawed at her stomach. So far Bucky had shown no signs of recognizing her, of remembering anything, but who knew what had gone through his head during those missing months? Who knew how seeing her had potentially triggered him?

It became apparent less than ten minutes into her shift that he _did_ remember something, and, per her luck, it wasn’t anything good.

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Bucky stared at the red-headed woman and frowned. When he had woken, she had been taking Steve’s seat next to his bed, and noting the super soldier’s absence Bucky had grown visibly distressed. That in itself was distressing; how quickly he had come to rely on Steve’s presence despite having barely any memory of the man. Taking a closer look at his new watchdog, however, things began to click into place with frightening rapidity- from the bridge, from his three months of nightmares, from seeing her on the street and following his conditioned response to _kill_.

Or at least, had tried to follow it, as the woman looked to be in perfect health. He was still trying to come up with something to say- how to express the fact that he still had a repressed desire to attack her and simultaneously wanted to apologize for acting upon that desire multiple times. The fact that he knew he remembered her somewhere and that seeing her was just as bad as seeing Steve, pointing to the glaring holes in his head? His metal arm clenched.

And then, of course, there were the dreams… and one in particular, between the time that Steve had left and she had come. Something that struck like lightning.

He could still feel it digging into his brain.

While he was still thinking, and staring, she finally spoke.

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“How are you feeling?” Natasha asked after three minutes of him just staring at her. He blinked, and seemed to truly register her presence for the first time, a small frown pulling at the corners of his lips. “Steve said you’ve been dreaming.” _And that you wouldn’t say what about._

“I… yeah,” he said at length, looking even more troubled. Natasha briefly wondered whether pushing him was a good idea, but he beat her to it.

"I remembered something," he muttered, searching the air. "Something... That got me wiped and stored again, while I still belonged to _them_. What was it? I told someone. I was in… Russia, I think."

_No._

How had he remembered that so quickly? _That_ memory, mere hours before she planned to confide in her teammates about Bucky’s days with her in the Red Room?

"You remembered your name," she murmured, hiding the whirlpool of memories deep inside where he wouldn't see them. Wouldn't know how her pulse raced knowing he recalled that time, _their_ time. "And you told me, but I was young and I forgot it was a secret. I called you 'James' after training one day, and the next you were gone."

Anger, hot and red, flooded his dead eyes at the realization. His metal arm jerked towards her, fingers convulsing as if they would love to close around her throat. Natasha didn't move, and although she would if he broke free, she was tempted to let him strangle her.

" _Natalia_ ," the Winter Soldier growled, muscles straining towards her. "Natalia Alianovna Romanova."

That was the first time anyone had called her that in eight years.

Natasha swallowed, chin raised defiantly, though her armor was rapidly crumbling as memories flooded Bucky's features. She hadn't thought about the Red Room in years before today, and he was bringing it all back, all of the missing memories and manipulation, the atrocities committed by the greatest Black Widow.

"Yes."

"I found my name again and you, you idiot child, let them know. They put me back to sleep!" the Winter Soldier screamed, completely rabid as Bucky was buried again. "Они заперли меня из-за тебя! ( _They locked me away because of you_!)"

Natasha leapt back when he lunged, restraints groaning as he thrashed on the bed.

"Ты сказал! ( _You told_!)"

Natasha, brave, careful Natasha, fled. Ran from the Winter Soldier and the Black Widow, from James.

From Natalia.

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Betrayal. That was new.

It implied a feeling of safety, of trust, a bond that the Winter Soldier had never had. But James, James had been capable of relationships, capable of feeling betrayed.

He had once trusted this woman, Natalia. Natasha. When she was a child she had broken that trust and years later when they met again he didn't remember.

He remembered now, and it burned in a way his slowly returning memories of Steve Rogers never had.

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Three times.

Child, killer, woman.

James and Natalia, one a seasoned killer, the other a little Tsarina who was found by the wrong sort of recruiters.

"She would make an excellent ballerina," someone somewhere had said.

"Imagine how easy it would be to kill with that grace," someone else, somewhere with more power, had said.

James had remembered himself for a moment, perhaps due to a sub-par wipe, and stupid little Natalia had been so excited to finally beat her instructor that she had let his freedom slip through her hands. The next mind wipe must have hurt, must have lasted, because the next time they met, he didn't know her at all.

Hers had hurt, had lasted.

The Winter Soldier and the Black Widow, one from a now-independent Hydra, the other still in the twisted hands of the Motherland. They met, they clashed, their similar fighting styles making it impossible for one to kill the other. The Winter Soldier killed their target first, and because the job was done, they parted ways without unnecessary bloodshed.

She never told her handlers.

Bucky and Natasha, at the end of their long and twisted road at last, her spotty memories restored with time and S.H.I.E.L.D. technology, his creeping back slowly. She had only ever been wiped when it was absolutely essential; she could only imagine what it must have been like to not just have small holes in your mind, but to have the sum of your entire existence wiped away.

But those memories had come fast enough today when he remembered her name, and the look in his eyes...

 _Forgive me Father, for I have sinned_. She thought that his dead eyes were terrible, but she was wrong. After so many years frozen, seeing fire in them was so, so much worse.

Natasha didn’t answer any of the questions that met her when she reemerged in the living area and headed to her room, and after half an hour of knocking Steve finally gave up and presumably went to go check on Bucky- Clint had rushed down as soon as Natasha showed no signs of returning.

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An hour later, when she emerged from her room, Natasha was greeted by a mural of faces ranging from concerned to confused to cautious. Steve, shoulders tense, was waiting by the hallway entrance when Natasha entered the lounge area, and behind him Tony, Bruce- when had he arrived?-, and Clint were by the bar, Tony nursing a brandy. Why the bedroom floor of the tower needed not only a giant living room with a jumbo TV and fire pit, but a fully functioning bar, Natasha would never know. Then, the Tower had also been redesigned with a kitchen/living area floor and an entire basement had been converting into an Avengers-worthy gym, so she wasn’t going to question its creator.

Sam, who Natasha assumed Steve called, was in a plush chair in front of the TV but he was watching Steve carefully. Natasha assumed Thor was en-route, since she’d overheard him tell Tony after their breakfast meeting a few days ago that he was reluctant to leave Jane again, after which Tony enthusiastically told him to bring her with him- Avengers Tower had a state of the art lab she could use. She assumed Bucky was either sleeping or drugged, since there was no one else to watch him that wasn’t staring at her.

"What the hell was all that earlier?" Steve demanded. Ignoring him, Natasha walked over to the bar and wordlessly took Tony's glass.

“Is this a thing you do, stealing other people’s drinks?” Tony said. She ignored him, downed all of it, faced the room.

"You all read the files," she said- it wasn't a question. "That was me dealing with an uncertain situation in the best way possible. Unless you wanted me to stick around until he broke loose and strangled me."

"He was stable,” Steve insisted. “What happened to make him act-”

“Do you want to know what I was like, the first time I got off the leash and realized how much my handlers were keeping from me?” Natasha snapped, fist curling around the glass so hard that she had to check herself- no one wanted to deal with broken glass on top of everything else. “Free will doesn’t sit easily on someone with a lifetime of brainwashing, Steve. Trust me.”

Clint nodded slowly, regarding Natasha with a nebulous look in his eyes.

“She’s right, Cap. And your friend doesn’t even have the benefit of working memories,” Clint said. “If she hadn’t run, she would have been forced to knock him out.”

"So we need to teach Sergeant Barnes how to be a real boy?" Tony said, pouring himself another brandy.

"Essentially, yes," Natasha said dryly.

Steve looked ready charge down the hall to his friend for some How-To Human lessons, but Natasha's look stopped him.

“There’s… something all of you need to know, if we’re going to be doing this together,” Natasha murmured. Concern flitted across Clint’s face and he reached out, hand resting gently, questioningly, on her forearm. Natasha just shook her head and touched his fingers before he withdrew from the contact. Something wordless had just passed between them- but now wasn’t the time for secrets.

“For those of you who don’t know, before I came to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. I was a Soviet spy, born and trained in Russia,” she began.

“Back when Hydra was allied with the Soviet Union, the motherland used the Winter Soldier as a frequent resource," Natasha explained, meeting her fellow Avengers' eyes and daring them to say anything. If they had read her files yet, none had mentioned it- only Tony didn't look surprised. It figured. "Including using him as a template for similar soldiers based in a training program frequently called the ‘Red Room’. That is where I was initially recruited and trained."

"So Bucky was your teacher?" Steve looked horrified, then immediately guilty, but his clear blue eyes remained unsettled. Natasha understood- the idea of his best friend teaching a woman known for her ruthlessness and assassinations was less than comforting, no matter that they considered each other friends now.

"Yes, though at the time everyone called him ‘Yasha,’ it was a throwaway name so that we didn’t have to say ‘Soldier’ all the time. He was the best, but by the time Hydra broke from the USSR, I was part of the Black Widow program and he was on ice again."

“Is he the one you went looking for? After?” Clint asked suddenly, looking her in the eye for the first time since she’d called the meeting. She nodded once, and Clint’s hands tightened on his knees.

“After I joined S.H.I.E.L.D. I went looking for him, to see if I could help him break away from his handlers’ control- back then, I had no idea who controlled him, just that they were allies of the Motherland. Now I know that it was Hydra. But the Winter Soldier was untraceable. The next time I saw him was when he shot me in the gut, and then vanished again. After that, I stopped looking, since it was apparent his handlers had wiped everything. He didn’t remember me.”

“So what you’re saying is that when Bucky starts to get his memories back…” Steve began, but had to stop and swallow painfully.

“They won’t just be from before he was captured, and they won’t all be of Hydra,” Natasha finished grimly.

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_"Is he functional?"_

_"Too early to be sure- we haven't even cleared his lungs yet."_  
 _"Well, then pump him, we don't have the luxury of time with this asset."_  
 _Dark. Dark dark and all dark and pinpricks of light clawing into his eyes. There is light beyond him but his body doesn't respond when he tells it too. Something like mild panic crawls up his spine, but he heard the voices- he is awake. He will have a mission._  
 _He waits._  
 _PAINPAINPAINFIRELUNGS-_  
 _"Do it again- he isn't responding."_  
 _AGH He tries to move something, anything, but he is cold still and sluggish and things have not connected yet. Fire burns in his lungs again though in his ears it is rushing blood; he coughs again and where fire went in, ice comes up, cold but not very on his chest._  
 _He draws in a dragging breath._  
 _"Soldier," a voice says, the hard one. “Codename: Winter Soldier. Respond."_  
 _Rough fingers pull his eyelids up, for the first time he sees, and it isn't familiar. Familiar in vague ways- similar shapes, similar lines of people, doctors, guards, dim light. He has no recollection of such a place, but there is a familiarity that claws at him. It doesn't bother him- that sense of forgetting, too, is familiar. A resting state for the blank slate._  
 _"Codename: Winter Soldier, respond." It is a man, with glasses and light hair and a face like stone. Next to him is also a man with glasses, but he is small and infinitely more breakable at first glance. There are tools in his hands that cause pain, but he is wearing a nice suit._  
 _Adrenaline surges through his sluggish body, metal arm lashing out to wrap around the doctor’s throat. He uses the man to haul himself up, watching his lips turn blue._  
 _"Secure him," someone says in the background. Hands wrap around his arms, his chest, hold him to the table with all their strength as if they fear he will fight back. But he is done- the doctor is gasping on the floor, and the Winter Soldier’s rasping breaths have already begun to heal as his body registers his raw lungs._  
 _"Soldier," the other man said. "You are in a secure facility, you've been in stasis for seven years."_  
 _The Winter Soldier blinks, stores the information- his first memories._  
 _"Why did you attack the doctor?"_  
 _WHYWHYWHY_  
 _He does not remember anyone ever asking Why._  
 _"Pain," he rasps. The man smiles._  
  The fourth night after waking up in the tower, Bucky woke screaming. Hydra latched onto his brain and he could feel the lightning of forgetting, hear the voice of the man he now knew was Alexander Pierce ordering wipes and hitting him when he did not comply, teaching him the meaning of “obedience” after so long under ice.

There were restraints on his body, biting and strong, lights flashing in his mind as he struggled to hold onto Bucky. He was not the Winter Soldier.

_“Wipe him.”_

His metal arm lashed out against a shadowy assailant and the setup of IVs and monitors by his bedside shattered when his arm hit it instead. Past the roaring need to survive he registered dimly a clinical, accented voice, the AI, but he was too far gone to heed it.

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“Sir,” JARVIS announced, voice cutting through Tony’s blaring AC/DC as he tinkered with an updated jet-pack for Sam in his lab. “Sergeant Barnes appears to be in significant distress and well on his way to destroying everything in sight within the confines of his cage.”

Steve’s head shot up instantly from where he was discussing ways to ease Bucky out of the need for restraints, concern shooting through him dark and painful. He was on his feet and racing out the lab doors with Natasha on his heels, Tony yelling for JARVIS to wake anyone else that could be potentially helpful as he rushed to follow the super soldier and assassin to the elevator.

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It took Natasha and Steve together to calm him down, once they arrived in the basement and found Bucky going berserker within the glass cage, all of the shiny new medical equipment smashed to pieces. Bucky himself was currently wrapped around himself against the far wall, hands gripping either side of his head, eyes squeezed shut as an expression of pure agony crossed his features.

“Bucky?” Steve said, stepping cautiously into the cell, broken glass crunching under his feet, thankfully not bare as Bucky’s were. Natasha padded in silently beside him, gaze trained on Bucky, every muscle wired to take him down if need be.

“Где я?( _Where am I_?)” Bucky demanded past gritted teeth, voice cold and authoritative despite the dissonance in his submissive posture.

“Stark Tower,” Natasha replied in a perfect Russian accent, not missing a beat. Beside her Steve looked wary, but hopeful. Russian translator- that was good. “С друзьями ( _With friends_ ).”

“Зимний Солдат не имеет друзей ( _The Winter Soldier has no friends_ ),” he said, but didn’t look convinced. His eyes opened and he glanced at her, still agitated but beginning to calm somewhat.

“Вы не Зимний Солдат ( _You are not the Winter Soldier_ ).” He looked less ready to jump and kill them. That was good, too. “Можете ли вы говорить по-английски ( _Can you speak English_ )? Let us help you.”

Bucky swallowed, hands trembling as they moved away from his skull. He licked his lips nervously as he opened his mouth halfway, closed it, a look of intense, heartbreaking concentration on his face. Opened his mouth again.

“Кто я? ( _Who am I_ )?” he asked, and when he realized that it was the wrong language absolute rage shattered across his features. Metal hand opening and close compulsively in a fist, he screwed his eyes shut, jaw tense enough to snap. His nostrils flared as he steeled himself, trying to regain control. Natasha swallowed, face suddenly a mask of impenetrable calm.

“Who am I?” The effect of hearing the words out loud, in English, was palpable.

“You don’t remember?” Steve asked, and Bucky shook his head. “You’re Bucky, James Barnes.”

"I remember..." Bucky swallowed painfully, eyebrows knitted in concentration. His chest still rose and fell heavily but he was beginning to show signs of visible calm. "I remember pain. And hurting, all the time. I woke up and thought… No more needles, or restraints."

"Alright, no more needles,” Natasha murmured. “No doctors, either, no tables. You’re safe.”

“It’s me, Steve,” Steve said. “Come on, Buck.”

Bucky nodded once, a jerky, unfamiliar motion, and began to rise. There was an inch-thick splinter jabbed into his arm, presumably from the chair Natasha had been using earlier, and shards of glass from the medical equipment in his feet, but he looked at the blood as if he'd only just noticed. Pain flickered across his face in a frown and furrowed brow, and Natasha guided Bucky to the edge of the hospital bed with her hand hovering just above the skin of his shoulder. Tony and Sam watched all of it silently from outside the cage.

Natasha pulled his hair back in a short ponytail while Steve removed the wood from Bucky's arm and started taking shards of glass out of his feet. Bucky never even showed that he registered the pain while Steve worked, face curious and at the same time impassive. The whole situation was so strange for him, and novel. That didn’t stop the tension in his shoulders, though, or the tight grip of his hands on the edges of the bed- he probably wasn’t used to being so close to people.

Watching a deadly assassin comb through an equally deadly-assassin's hair, while Captain America did first aid on said deadly-assassin, was not even the strangest thing Sam had seen since coming to Avengers tower.

"You all need some serious therapy," he said. Tony slapped him on the back.

"You're hired."

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Making good on their promise, that night Natasha and Steve moved Bucky to a guest bedroom (read: not personalized only because there were a lot of rooms in the tower and not enough Avengers), and gave him a short overview of the tower and its inhabitants. When meeting Sam outside the cage, Bucky had awkwardly apologized for trying to kill him. Sam, being Sam and therefore actually good at the whole “therapy thing” as Tony said- they all needed it, so it was about time they learned the proper terminology- just waved him off, saying that wasn’t him and the whole purpose of Bucky being there was so that it didn’t happen again.

At hearing Tony’s name, something in Bucky’s head seemed to snap because his first words were “I miss Howard,” right after which he looked supremely confused- because he didn’t know who Howard was, or because the concept of missing a person had been buried for so many years, no one knew. Tony just asked him politely to keep the dad jokes to a minimum and not trash his new bedroom.

“There’s also Thor and Clint and Doctor Banner, oh, and Pepper too, I guess,” Steve said as they rode the elevator up, Bucky’s face screwed in fierce concentration at the foreign names. “Only Clint and Doctor Banner are here right now, but you’ll meet them in the morning.”

Bucky nodded, but didn’t say another word as Steve showed him the bedroom, introduced JARVIS- it took another careful minute of softly spoken words to keep Bucky from attacking the walls where the voice came from- and asked if he needed anything else. When Bucky didn’t respond, Steve murmured “Good night, get us if you need… anything,” and ducked out of the room. Bucky heard the soft whir of an advanced lock when the door shut, but smothered the brief, bright panic that flared in his chest.

These people were… _friends_. This was for his safety and theirs.

The bandages on his feet and inner arm were nearly useless by now, and he peeled them off to find nothing but scabs as he padded into the bathroom, curious. Some uncomfortable beat on his brain as he took in the elegantly tiled floor and arching mirror, subtle light and a shower large enough for three of him. There was a tub to the side, but something told him to avoid it.

When he accidentally turned and caught himself in the mirror, it was like being thrown back in time.

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_All around him the sounds of the factory shutting down mingled with shifting boots and idle chatter, a river of men pushing past him, heading for the doors now that the work day was over. Bucky wiped his forehead and peeled off his gloves._

_“Bucky!” someone yelled, a high-pitched voice laced with panic that clamored to be heard over the droning of human cattle. Turning, Bucky saw a woman standing just inside one of the far doors, searching frantically as workers pooled around her, glancing at her curiously._

_“Susan?” Bucky called, making his way over, gloves clutched in one hand. He knew that he was popular with the girls, but Susan hardly ever paid him any attention- he was surprised she knew where he worked._

_As soon as she spotted him she rushed over, heels clacking on the hard floor._

_“Thank god! Bucky, it’s Steve! He-”_

_“Where?” Bucky’s chest constricted as soon as he heard his friend’s name, and Susan swallowed when he gripped her arm._

_“The alley behind Johnny’s,” she gasped as Bucky sped past her. She raced behind him, pace sounding uncomfortable and slow, before she paused. Bucky didn’t stop running even when he knew she was no longer behind him. He was out past the crowd of men a second later, gloves and Susan forgotten as he careened into the street._

_He was halfway down the block before Susan caught up with him, and when he glanced over he saw the summer green heels clutched in her hands, growing runs in her stockings as she ran barefoot beside him. Normally Bucky would have insisted she stop hurting herself and just go, but Susan was one determined dame and Steve was in trouble. There was no time for chivalry._

_Rounding a corner, the diner came into view and in the alley right behind it Bucky could see dancing shadows and hear a sharp grunt of pain._

_“There,” Susan gasped, as if Bucky wasn’t already lunging into the alley. In a blink he was pulling the hulk of a man off of Steve and planting a fist on his jaw, vision colored red with rage. The unknown assailant tried to get Bucky in the stomach, but Bucky threw him out of the alley and cracked his knuckles, practically daring the man to do anything else. The bully, who Bucky recognized as Bill Waters, spit a bloody tooth onto the street and cast Bucky a dark look._

_“Scram, Waters,” Bucky growled. Bill straightened up and glanced at Susan. She scowled at him and crossed her arms and, realizing that he was getting nowhere, Bill limped off in disgrace. As soon as he was out of sight Susan turned to the alley, where a small figure was groaning in the trash._

_“Oh my god, Steve!” she exclaimed, stepping forward, but Bucky beat her to it. As he took in his friend’s bloody lip, bruised jaw, and imagined the number done on his chest, he wished Bill had left missing a few more teeth._

_“What’d you get yourself into this time, Steve?” Bucky asked, supporting his friend as Steve brushed the trash off his jacket gingerly, wincing when he moved his arm._

_“He saw Bill harassing me and Mel,” Susan said, glancing at them both with a mixture of pity and gratitude. “He stood up for chivalry’s sake, but Bill didn’t like that so much. Mel bolted as soon as Bill was distracted, and I ran for you.”_

_“How bad is it?” Bucky asked, hand gentle on Steve’s shoulder. Steve ducked his head, blond hair falling to brush his eyes, and Bucky sighed. No way Steve would talk with Susan standing right there- he was too proud, or shy, or both._

_“You can head home, Susan,” Bucky said. “Think you’ll be alright?”_

_“I’ll get Johnny to walk me home,” she said, but lingered for a heartbeat longer. “Thanks a lot, Steve. Take care of yourself.”_

_As soon as she was gone Bucky helped Steve limp from the alley, but when they hit the street Steve insisted on walking alone. It was stupid, but Bucky knew Steve would drop dead before being carried in public. He had the heart of a lion and the body of a lamb, but wouldn’t let the world think that meant he was nothing but a sickly coward._

_By the time they reached the apartment Steve was wheezing and his forehead was dotted with sweat. It was only on the porch that Steve let Bucky swing his arm around his shoulders and support him as they hobbled inside and up the stairs. Luckily no one met them on the way up, so Bucky practically carried Steve into the apartment, across the cramped living room, and onto the couch._

_“Come on, shirt off,” Bucky said. Steve sighed and took off his jacket, working off his tie and unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his sickly, skinny frame._

_“Nothing’s broken,” Steve insisted, but he was wheezing and Bucky ignored him in favor of examining the blue and purple constellation on Steve’s chest._

_“Shit Steve,” Bucky said. “Next time tell me about this before you walk two blocks home, and I don’t care if every girl in the city is there to hear.”_

_“I’m fine, Buck, really,” Steve said._

_“But one of these days you won’t be, because you’ll be too far away or you’ll take on someone even I can’t handle. What am I supposed to do if you end up in the hospital, or a cemetery!” Bucky exclaimed as he rose and headed for the kitchen._

_“Either way I get flowers,” Steve said. Bucky wanted to give him a hard look, but it was too funny, and as he headed back into the living room with a bag of ice his lips twitched until he let out a smile._

_“Seriously, though, broken bones cost money we don’t have.”_

_“I have asthma, not brittle bone disease,” Steve said._

_“Just take care of yourself every once and a while is all I’m asking- you can’t always be the hero,” Bucky sighed, passing Steve the ice which he held to his bruising jaw. There wasn’t much they could do for his chest except ice, too._

_“Jerk,” Steve mumbled._

_“Punk. Go clean yourself up.”_

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Warm water streamed down his naked body, send small thrills of pleasure through him- how long had it been since he’d had a hot shower? He was starting to think never, because of all the random things that had acted as memory triggers, none of them had included this.

Loath though he was, he stepped out of the shower after the bathroom was completely filled with steam, feeling cleaner than he had in years. That didn’t stop him, of course, from seeing blood on his hands every time he looked down. The memory that struck him when he saw his face was bittersweet, a reinforcement of the attachment he already felt to Steve Rogers, who had been kind, who had tried to help him, who had locked the door. It was a welcome change from the bloodbath that was… seemingly ever other memory, every foul thought that didn’t belong in this place.

His flesh and blood hand wiped against the mirror, and through the fog Bucky looked at himself again, wondering if there would be a difference this time.

There wasn’t, aside from the wet hair that hung in tangles around his face. The dark beard was still there, the pale skin already losing its flush from the heat, haunted eyes and sunken cheeks. It was hard to believe that he had ever been the confident youth that crowded his memories, that a woman ever would have smiled at him with affection.

He dried off, and shaved after a few moments trying to figure out how to use the electric razor beneath the sink. JARVIS, apologizing for startling him, informed him that there were clothes in the closet and should fit relatively well. He pulled on dark sweatpants and an equally dark sweatshirt that had “I <3 Captain America” on the back in the middle of the shield logo. That seemed like the kind of prank Howard would have pulled, but he was too tired to pick a fight with “Tony.”

Bucky slept through the whole night, which wasn’t to say he didn’t dream- he did, and the line between memory and illusion was more blurred than ever- but this time he handled it better. It was gratifying to wake up and not have to explain more broken furniture.

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Remembering the early days was like being thrown into an acid trip- things would surface without warning, hit him out of nowhere, filter into his dreams. With Steve there to jog his memories and fill in the gaps it wasn't as bad as his early memories had been, but sometimes it hurt more to remember.

Steve's mom’s funeral- _Till the end of the line._

Double dates at Johnny's- _"Come dance with us, Bucky!" "You sure you're ok, Steve?"_

Steve's first asthma attack in the new apartment- _"Come on punk, you can’t die in the middle of summer!"_

Susan Malone breaking Steve's heart- _"She's one girl, Steve- just couldn't see what was good for her is all. Come on, let's go out with Jenny and Mel tonight."_

The days of rogue Bucky Barnes struggling through Brooklyn winters and sweltering summers, usually a girl on each arm, seemed so far away it might as well have been someone else's life. And of course, remembering his old life was only made more difficult by acclimating to the new one, and meeting the rest of the “Avengers” seriously challenged Bucky’s already screwed definition of “odd.”

He remembered Natasha and Steve, and Sam so far hadn't ruffled his feathers except for the odd twitch when his mission parameters focused in on the black man- “Kill all who interfere with taking out the mark”- and yelled at Bucky for not doing his job and shoving a kitchen knife in his chest. Tony was easier, too, because Bucky remembered Howard dimly.

That, of course, left Clint, Bruce, and Thor, and wasn’t accounting for the various other people who might have well been Avengers or members of the Avengers Support Group- Pepper, Jane, and Darcy, the latter of whom was barely there but still relevant in the grand scheme of “Teach Bucky Who His Friends Are.”

Six days after Bucky’s arrival, all of them were finally assembled, and he woke to a decidedly fuller kitchen than when he’d gone to sleep the night before.

Stumbling out of the elevator and into the kitchen in the “I <3 Captain America” sweats and rubbing his eyes blearily- when he didn’t wake until two in the afternoon that first night in his room Tony had muttered something about cryosleep and exhaustion, and for someone who had spent two thirds of his life sleeping Bucky was surprisingly tired most of the time- Bucky nearly ran into Steve. Rather than attack the hand that steadied his shoulder, Bucky relaxed, and took in the confused expression on Steve’s face.

“Buck, what are you wearing?” he asked, and Bucky just shrugged.

“What was in the closet.”

Steve’s jaw set, and when he turned towards Tony the billionaire was clearly trying not to smile.

“Tony, that isn’t funny,” he gritted, but several other people seemed to think that it was, judging from their expressions. Most notably Clint’s, because he was grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

“It seemed like the kind of thing Howard would do,” Bucky said, but the way he looked at Steve made it more of a question than anything.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Steve sighed. “I’ll give you some of my cloths later.”

“It’s not like I have anywhere to dress up for,” Buck said, walking over and taking a seat at the long table to the right of the kitchen, where several others were already sitting. He hid his hands in the front pocket of the sweatshirt so no one could see the fists that were forming, suddenly being surrounded by so many people. The past few days had been… difficult, to say the least, and as distanced as he was from the Winter Soldier, he wasn’t Bucky, either. Whoever he was, he was damaged, and didn’t want to hurt anyone again. He hoped Steve and his “friends” knew what they were doing.

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“So, round table, time to introduce ourselves. Formally,” Tony clapped suddenly. “We’ll go clockwise, shall we? First up we have Thor, prince of Asgard- I assume Spangles gave you the overview?”

Bucky nodded- the conversation concerning other realms had been an interesting one, to say the least, but the giant blond man sitting next to Tony was clearly not from Earth, especially given that he was wearing dark pants and some sort of bright red tunic that looked like something from a renaissance fair. His hair was longer than Bucky’s, but he smiled broadly when Tony introduced him and the part of Bucky that wasn’t assessing his threat potential thought he might like this man.

“Greetings, friend Barnes. Steve has told us much of you, and it’s good to hear you are no longer under the influence of Hydra. It is a terrible thing to have your mind stolen,” he said gravely. “He says you are a fearsome warrior, and an able drinking companion, though.”

“Uh, I think I was- am,” Bucky said.

Tony interjected before Thor could say anything else.

“And right next to him we have the two lovely ladies on Team Thor, Doctor Jane Foster and Darcy,” he said. The women in question smiled at Bucky, the one who was sitting next to Thor looking more fascinated than nervous, and Bucky got the distinct impression that he was being studied like a bug under a microscope. She was pretty enough, with soft brown hair and a heart-shaped face with warm chocolate eyes, but the title “Doctor” still sat ill with Bucky. The woman next to her, however, shorter, wearing thick glasses and with a face framed by wild dark curls, seemed much more lively and inviting.

The other woman, Darcy, coughed suddenly and looked around the table, darting a glance back at Bucky.

“So, way to tell me that the brainwashed assassin is totally hot,” she muttered. Steve laughed.

“The girls back in the day used to think so, too,” he said.

“So we’ve established that our resident amnesiac is still hot stuff, let’s move on,” Tony moderated, saving Bucky from having to respond. “Next to Darcy we have-”

“Clint,” Bucky said, sharing a look with the archer. When Bucky had woken up that first day he had run into Clint before anyone else, and they’d had a muted conversation about firearms and the advantages of a bow and arrow before Steve found them. Bucky liked him- he was funny, and knew how to talk guns without making seem like the violent things they were. What they felt like to Bucky.

“As soon this guy gets his brain back I’m taking him to the range,” Clint said, and Tony’s face went blank.

“O-K-”

“I think the only one who still needs to be introduced is Doctor Banner,” Steve cut in from where he took a seat between Natasha and Sam, who Bucky also thought he liked; he was funny, the kind of humor they appreciated back in the day.

“Hi,” the darker-skinned man said awkwardly from across the table, giving Bucky a wary look. “Forgive me for not shaking your hand, but I’m… well, not one for taking risks.”

Bucky nodded, feeling the cogs in his brain turning.

“Designation: Hulk,” he said suddenly, much to everyone’s surprise. “Hydra had tags on you, after the South America incident. I was awake for some of it.”

“Oh. Good to know we don’t have to explain anything, then,” Doctor Banner muttered before rising from his seat. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be meditating. Deeply.”

Bucky watched him go, brow furrowed. He felt the gentle pressure of Steve’s hand on his shoulder.

“He’ll warm up to you. He just… doesn’t want to risk anyone, if-”

“If I blow up. I get it,” Bucky said, pressing his lips together and shrugging. He did get it, and for a minute he envied Doctor Banner the panic room in the basement.

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Suddenly what had been one person became eight, and the tower was crowded with superheroes as Tony lured them all in with some promise or another- those that weren’t already committed to stay thanks to Bucky, that was.

Jane was smart enough to get an apartment in the city, but ended up spending most of her nights with Thor at the tower and using Tony’s updated roof lab and observatory. Darcy visited with her sometimes, but had no real reason to hang around the Tower too much since she had gotten an actual job. Apparently, being an unpaid intern didn’t, well, pay enough.

Where the girls were lost, Sam was in. His apartment in DC had really been a formality, and with an official invitation to join the Avengers pending Tony’s completion of updated falcon wings, he had one of the rooms on the kitchen floor to himself as well as an apartment right next to the tower when he needed a little privacy from the superhero shenanigans. Bucky liked Sam. Being the only person who would understand what Bucky and Steve had gone through, and an actual therapist- sort of- made Sam the most helpful when Bucky was close to a panic attack because the coffee machine sounded like gunfire, or he accidentally kept breaking things with his metal arm. The Winter Soldier had known how to use it effortlessly, but with the return of Bucky suddenly it was a whole new task to get used to the strength.

Technically Doctor Banner had moved back in too, but he was so often in one of the lower labs or with Tony that Bucky never saw him. Still, Clint had taken to calling the tower their “Super-Secret Superhero Clubhouse” and Bucky thought the name was oddly appropriate. Except for him, that was. They should have tacked on a “And Their Dysfunctional Villain” at the end.

James Barnes may have been a hero once, but the Winter Soldier was far from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, sorry for how ridiculously long this chapter is- I had trouble breaking it into parts and the next chapter is a passage that I think needs to stand alone, so it’ll be significantly shorter than this one. Apologies, since I’m trying to keep them all sort-of even in length. Anyways, please leave me a review to tell me what you think about the story so far, and what you think is coming! Also, Pepper WILL be in the next chapter- and I’m ridiculously excited about it.   
> Review!


	5. Pepper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, lately I’ve been ridiculously enamored with the idea of Pepper being a Super Avengers Mom, especially with someone like Bucky around. This is the product of that plot bunny which has gone completely awry… I’m so sorry. Please don’t choke on the fluff or the awkward ending.

Natasha had only one memory from before the Red Room, which she didn't even retrieve until long after her years of "service."

It was of a man, with wild salt and pepper hair and a smile that broke through the cold of Moscow winters. He told her in garbled Russian to point her toes more, wrinkled hands moving down her leg to ensure that it was iron-rod straight.

_"My Tsarina Natalia," he said. "Dance for the people."_

She did, feet kicking up snow as she glided to the man's beat up tape player with _The Nutcracker_ floating into the icy air. Passing strangers threw coins at the little ballerina in her ragged white tutu. Red curls bounced and flew beneath the wire tiara. She was a princess of snow and stone, of bottle caps and rusted coins.

The old man told her that she was good, good enough to be a star one day, but something must have happened because dreams of the royal ballet vanished into red smoke, and she had no other recollections of the old man. Even after she regained the memory, she didn't look.

If she had that one memory before her training began and all that mattered was the mission, then what did Bucky still have? Natasha was so brainwashed that they didn't need to wipe her, only when something compromised her loyalty to the motherland- _like him_ \- but Bucky... The Winter Soldier was supposed to be no one, and Hydra made sure to take everything that could be used to forge an identity.

But maybe, just maybe, he would remember, with help and time.

Although it turned out that memory loss was accompanied by a lot more things than just a mental fill-in-the-blank.

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When they realized that Bucky did not frequently remember that food and water were necessary for life, it became a game to decide when he last ate, whether or not he needed more water, how many calories a day he needed compared to a regular person, compared to Steve, compared to a male adult black bear.

Steve insisted on healthy food, and even though Tony couldn’t cook he recommended several vegetarian recipes. Thor, unaware of Bucky’s previous culinary ails, said that poptarts were a delightful Midgardian food that he should try. Remembering how well Bucky was doing after weeks of living off junk food from the streets, everyone silently decided to ignore Thor and hide every other sugary food that turned up in the tower after Clint did the shopping. Jane proceeded to have a serious conversation with Thor about Asgardian eating habits- apparently he was still warming to the whole “fruits and vegetables” thing that came along with dating a scientist. Their project for the next few days was introducing Thor to the concept of food other than meat, bread, and alcohol. Apparently the only one who had ever forced him to eat otherwise was his mother, and that was still a difficult subject after everyone learned just how much Thor had lost saving the Earth from Malekith.

Having experimented with the cooking channel in his off time, Steve was relatively well-equipped to prepare healthy meals, as was, unsurprisingly, Bruce, although it wasn’t often that he volunteered to spend time around Bucky. The former Winter Soldier unnerved him, and everyone respected Bruce’s right to not potentially Hulk-out too much to give him chef duty. It was enough that he even came back from India, when he would have been well within his rights to wash his hands of the business.

When Natasha asked Bucky what he wanted to eat, the second night he was in his own room, he just blinked at her and frowned. Steve made grilled-cheese sandwiches for the team, and a turkey and sprout sandwich for Bucky, which he ate without comment. Natasha began to suspect that he couldn’t taste anything, because she saw Clint pour hot sauce on it when Steve wasn’t looking and Bucky appeared completely untroubled.

Unfortunately, what began as black humor to keep Bucky from starving quickly turned into a crisis, because no matter how many times Steve and Natasha told him that food was important, it was taking longer than they thought for his body to realize what his brain was registering. Whenever they were away- which they tried to be as little as often, but as some of the only local representatives of the late S.H.I.E.L.D., U.N. conferences and White House meetings and dodging news stations took up much of their time- Natasha threatened Tony within an inch of his life to make sure that Bucky was fed.

Tony, being Tony, wasn’t an exemplary babysitter in that capacity.

So after the third incident of realizing that Bucky hadn’t eaten in two days, Tony put a stop to Natasha’s threats and Steve’s mothering and the general panic surrounding the issue of Bucky maybe starving to death by getting Bucky a watch. Or, rather, building him one. It looked straight out of the 1940s, and connected to Bucky’s body to help bridge the gap between physical hunger and mental recognition, and was set with timers to alert the super soldier of when it was the best time for him to eat based on physiological markers, or some other science mumbo-jumbo that Tony explained but Bucky wouldn’t keep up with. Science had gotten a lot less fun after seventy years of being a crazy German’s science fair project.

Clint thought Bucky was going to cry when he realized that Tony was _giving_ him something. He supposed the concept of a gift, of ownership, was pretty foreign to him at this point. It suddenly made Bucky’s confusion at being given cloths and a room much more understandable. Still, after that Bucky actually started showing up for the scheduled meal times- no one dared used the word “family” but with a group breakfast, lunch, and dinner it was beginning to feel that way- and it quickly became apparent in his physical appearance how healthy he was becoming.

The real victory, though, came when Pepper arrived, and Bucky proved that he was not as lost as everyone thought.

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No one knew when they first started thinking of the tower as home, but it happened somewhere between the frantic “Assemble” that had gone out the night Bucky was found, and the early days of the former Winter Soldier learning how to be human again. The space around helping an old friend and making a new one and the gradual shift that no one noticed as each of them was lured, in some way or another, into staying permanently beneath Tony’s roof. Thor and Steve trained in the gym and recounted old war stories, Tony and Bruce made wonderlands of their respective labs and sometimes even Jane was seen in their company, when Thor wasn’t helping her translate Asgardian terminology into Earth jargon for her schematics- she had a presentation at her university in a little over a month. Clint enjoyed the firing range Tony had made “on a rainy day,” and Natasha was a shadow somehow nowhere and everywhere at once. Sam was similarly low-key, but in a way that put everyone at ease to be in the room with the pleasant veteran, much in the way that Darcy’s infrequent visits ended up with Clint doing something ridiculous or everyone getting uproariously drunk on laughter.

 

And then there was Bucky, tense, careful, but easing up a little each day as Steve gave him some of his own clothes to replace the Captain America sweats and Nat stayed close to his room at night when the Red Room haunted his sleep. Thor was delighted to find out that Bucky’s metal arm was nearly a match for his Asgardian strength; as a consequence, Tony lost twenty dollars and Bucky appeared significantly more at ease. Steve tried not to think about Bucky’s declaration after the lost battle, that it was good to know that if anything happened, someone was strong enough to…

 

But trouble couldn’t stay away from them forever, and less than two weeks into the new arrangement the Avengers were called into action. A crisis that took them halfway across the continent, which meant that Bucky was going to be home alone.

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It was fall, rolling into winter and growing colder each day no matter how high Tony kept the tower thermostat. So when JARVIS alerted him in his lab that Pepper was outside and heading for the elevator, he was significantly distressed at the notion of going out in the crisp New York air.

Of course, the idea of Pepper setting foot near Avengers Tower while Bucky was there was infinitely more distressing, so he didn’t even grab a coat on his mad dash down to the lobby. He rushed out the elevator doors just as Pepper entered, looking smart in a navy business suit and clicking heels, wearing that pomegranate lipstick Tony loved so much.

“Hey, Pep!” he exclaimed, smiling. “What, ah, what are you doing here? You know I had no idea you were coming-”

“ That’s because I didn’t tell you, Tony,” Pepper smiled back, causing Tony’s to fall instantly.

“Seriously, why are you here? There’s no reason you shouldn’t be-”

“In Paris? Or London? Or Shanghai?” she pressed, still pushing forward even though at this point Tony was standing in front of the elevator with his arms spread out to block her way. “Stark Industries has had a visit in every country we have a share in in the past week, Tony, thank you for the pointed business trips. But-”

“Pep, Pepper, I love you, truly, but now is really not the best time,” Tony pleaded. Pepper put a hand on her hip and he knew he was done for. “Why don’t you just go back to the house in Malibu and I’ll visit in a few days-”

“Or I could stay here, because I designed it and know that you have a surplus of rooms, even with every other Avenger currently living here.”

Tony swallowed, opened his mouth. Closed it. Pepper hated when he tried to protect her from things she was convinced she didn’t need protection against.

He knew before he spoke again that the battle was long lost.

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While the round of introductions continued in the living area, Tony quietly sat at the table with his head in his hands and tried to resist the urge to put on the suit and fly Pepper out of New York entirely.

“Lady Pepper,” Thor rumbled as he kissed her hand. “It is an honor to finally meet you.”

“And you as well, Thor- Tony’s told me a lot,” Pepper smiled, and it was like the sun bursting over the horizon. Tony couldn’t deny that he’d missed her with a furious ache, but having her in the middle of all this was… on any other day, he would have known being in a room with the Avengers was the safest place on earth. The presence of Steve’s erstwhile friend who had yet to make an appearance meant that today was definitely not just any other day.

“Pepper,” Natasha said, gliding forward so the women could kiss each other on the cheeks. “ _Salut_.”

“ _Salut_ ,” Pepper returned the greeting, and she and Natasha had a quick, hushed conversation in rapid French that Tony would remind JARVIS to translate later.

From there it was Steve, and Clint, and even Bruce made an appearance because _Pepper_ , and they ended up eating bagel crisps around the fire pit while Pepper explained Tony’s heroic efforts to keep her away from the tower, presumably because one Sergeant Barnes was staying there. Steve’s frown deepened, but the only look he shot Tony during all of it was one of sad understanding. The guilt gnawing at Tony’s chest abated at that- he’d felt bad, because so far Bucky had shown only an earnest desperation to figure out who he was, but this was Pepper they were talking about. If any chance existed at all for the Winter Soldier to make a reappearance, Tony wanted the light of his life as far away as possible when it presented itself.

Dinner was a solemn affair with Bucky sitting across the table and Pepper eying him curiously after they exchanged soft _Hello_ s. Tony curled around Pepper that night in their bed and wondered if everything might be all right after all.

Being Tony, he could not have been more wrong.

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It was three am when the alarm went off, and the general call to “Suit Up” echoed around the tower.

“Tony?” Pepper asked groggily, pushing up her sleep mask as Tony slipped out of the bed. “What’s going on?”

“Emergency in the midwest- apparently an abandoned Hydra base has decided to start spewing robots at a local population,” Tony muttered between kisses as he tried desperately to extract himself. Pepper’s fingers grazed his cheek when he finally pulled away, and she lay her head back down on her pillow with a sigh. She hadn’t even been back for twenty-four hours and there was already an emergency.

“Be safe,” she murmured. Tony, already in a bodysuit, kissed her nose.

“I’ll be back by dinnertime.” She watched his shadow retreat towards the door before something horrible occurred to her.

“Tony,” she hissed, rising and pressing one hand into her pillow to keep herself upright. “What about Bucky?”

Tony’s silhouette froze and then turned minutely. Even in the dark she could read the distress on his features.

“ _Shit_. He won’t be awake for hours, noon at the earliest. Just… let him do his thing, speak softly,” Tony said. “Cap’s probably filling him in now. You’ll be fine.”

“Yeah. Ok,” Pepper said, even though her heart was suddenly racing a mile a minute. She’d wanted to meet Bucky, meet the rest of the Avengers and see Tony, but she hadn’t thought she’d be stuck alone with a severely mentally damaged WWII veteran and ex-Hydra assassin so soon. Realistically, considering what Steve and his new friend Sam had told her, Bucky was recovering well. That didn’t stop her from worrying about him, however little. And, of course, worrying about herself.

“It’ll all be fine. Trust me,” Tony said, and suddenly he was halfway across the bed again, kissing her deeply. “Just go back to sleep. Odds are he’ll stay in his room all day anyway. He pines.”

“Alright. _Be safe_.” She tugged gently at his collar to deepen the kiss even as he pulled away. His fingers trailing along her neck sent sparks through her skin.

Then he was gone, and she was left alone in the dark.

Pepper tugged her sleep mask back down over her eyes and bunched up her pillow, wrapping the heavy comforter tight around herself to fake her body into believing Tony’s warmth was beside her.

“Miss Potts, shall I raise the thermostat?” JARVIS asked.

“Just a few degrees,” Pepper said, knowing she would get hot eventually and not caring, because normally Tony was beside her in the night with enough warmth to be his own space heater. “And alert me when Bucky wakes up.”

“Yes, Miss Potts.”

Rolling over, she closed her eyes, tucked her chin close to her chest, and tried to breath deeply.

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“I’m sorry to wake you, Miss Potts, but Sergeant Barnes has left his room,” JARVIS’ voice, somehow apologetic despite its clinical tone, woke Pepper slowly. As she rolled away the covers and stretched out her arms, sleep mask still darkening her world, she thought she could hear a wince in his tone.

“You did ask me to alert you when-”

“I heard you, JARVIS,” she yawned. Briefly she pressed her entire body deep into the plush mattress, feeling the sheets converge around her and for a moment savoring the warmth. When she finally moved it was to pull back the sleep mask, and she tried to ignore how tangled her hair probably was. JARVIS automatically brought up the lights in the bedroom, slowly so that Pepper’s eyes could adjust as the world went from eternal night, to dim, to completely illuminated.

“Where is he now?”

“In the living area on the twentieth floor,” JARVIS informed her. Pepper rubbed her eyes and braved the cold floor to reach the bathroom. Twentieth floor. That was right below her- where Bucky, Steve, Natasha, and Clint lived. And then twenty-two was Thor and Jane, Sam, and Bruce. Tony had insisted that he and Pepper have an entire floor to themselves, though she had no idea why- probably because he didn’t want the other Avengers getting to his bar, newly remodeled and fully stocked after the Loki Incident. Most of them had a terrible penchant for drinking away their problems instead of seeing an actual therapist. Now that S.H.I.E.L.D. was no longer around to provide them with one, Pepper had seriously considered putting Sam on payroll.

“Tell me if he… starts, breaking things, or something,” Pepper muttered with a shiver. The tiles in the bathroom were freezing, so she brushed her hair and teeth as quickly as she could, decided that no business meetings meant no makeup, and practically raced back out into the carpeted portion of the bedroom. Twenty minutes later she was dressed smartly in comfortable black pants and a cream top, delicate house slippers to keep her feet warm, and stepped into the elevator.

“Twenty please, JARVIS,” she said.

The _ding_ of the elevator door heralded her arrival, and she exited into the living area, eyes tracking beyond into the slightly raised kitchen before locating Bucky. He was a shadow against the living room windows, and sudden anxiety gripped Pepper’s chest. Not necessarily for her, but for the whole situation she’d suddenly found herself in. It seemed like forever ago that Tony had told her Bucky would probably sleep until noon. When JARVIS woke her, the clock had read 9:00am.

"Hey, uh, sweetie," Pepper said as she crept over to the window where Bucky was standing, trying not to think about where the sudden endearment had come from. Maybe it was because he looked so forlorn silhouetted against the New York skyline, or because of Tony’s “pining” comment. She followed his gaze out into the distance, and it wasn't hard to know what he was looking at- it was something she was familiar with, whenever Tony left her behind, and it must have been ten times worse in Bucky's situation.

"You shouldn't brood, you know," Pepper said, placing a hesitant but gentle hand on his shoulder. When he turned to look at her, his face was a mask of apprehension and disbelief, and she smiled. "They'll come back fine- they always do."

"You're... Pepper," he said, and she nodded. Tony had warned her that lapses in memory weren't uncommon, and he just needed to be reminded every once and a while. "Tony's girl."

"I suppose you could say that, though most of the time I feel more like Tony's babysitter." That actually got a small almost-smile out of him, and Pepper's chest warmed. She liked Bucky- she knew the basics of his history, knew how hard it must be to adjust- and was doing her best to be helpful. He seemed like a genuinely sweet man when the mood took him, but also lost, and seeing him looking so forlorn had honestly broken her heart.

"Have you eaten yet?" Pepper asked, glancing at the watch on his natural hand. He shook his head numbly and Pepper decided then and there that she wasn’t going to take a passive stance where Bucky was concerned. She could probably let him drift around the tower all day alone and he’d be fine, but the idea of leaving him like this was too much for her to contemplate.

“What do you want for breakfast?” she asked as she turned and started towards the small kitchen area. “I’m not the greatest cook in the world but it’s better than Tony, so…”

When she turned to look, he had only come a few steps, and was staring at her with an incongruous expression, arms hanging at his sides.

“Bucky?” she queried softly, causing his eyes to flicker to her face. Pursing her lips, she stepped back down into the living room and approached him. “Sweetie?”

Amazingly, he responded to that, if he looked the slightest bit confused as to why he did.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m still not used to food, I guess.”

The implications of that statement turned Pepper’s stomach, and her hands clenched involuntarily as flashes of seeing Tony for the first time after he came back from being the Ten Rings’ prisoner invade her mind. When she swallowed her throat was suddenly very dry.

“Who doesn’t love eggs, then,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “If what Jane says about Thor’s eating habits are true, there should be some toaster waffles in the freezer.”

Without waiting she turned and marched back into the kitchen with stiff shoulders. She was going to feed him, and talk to him, and do whatever the hell else he needed because she’d seen Tony come back once before and even if he’d been wearing a suit she had seen the blood in his eyes and heard the screams that woke him up at night. Bucky had been through some hell, same as Tony, but the idea of not being “used to food” made her mad like she’d never been before. She yanked the freezer open harsher than was necessary, ignoring the cold that wafted over her toes and crept around her ankles. Foraging through frozen fruit, red, white, and blue Popsicles, and assorted meat- whose was that?- she finally found a small cache of battered frozen waffle boxes at the very back, and grabbed one with stiff fingers.

Slamming it shut, she straightened to find Bucky sitting at one of the barstools with his arms crossed on the surface, watching her intently with a slightly furrowed brow. Sparing him a small, quick smile, she took out two waffles- glanced back at him and the clearly defined muscles of his chest and arms showing through his plain black t-shirt- took out fourteen more waffles, and put them in the toaster four at a time. While she waited for the first four to finish she took out one of the many cartons of eggs and flicked on the stove.

Large bowl.

Fork, because that’s how her father beat his eggs when she was little and their cat stole the whisk.

Ten eggs.

Orange juice.

Two glasses.

_Ding._

Four more waffles.

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Bucky watched Pepper move around the kitchen, slightly afraid but not in a way that made him want to vomit. As she scrambled six eggs and shoved waffle after waffle into the toaster, alternating filling glasses with juice and rummaging for bacon, cutting tomatoes, setting two places at the bar, Bucky marveled at her sheer tenacity. She was a survivor if ever he saw one, but the thought was sour- she had never needed to be, most likely. The thought of Pepper in any dark situation was unpleasant, the image of her with Hydra, or the Red Room, too dark to contemplate.

Tony’s girl.

Steve had told Bucky, after dinner last night, that she wasn’t just that. She was a leader among women and men, and owned Howard’s company, was as tough as they came even if she didn’t break necks like Natasha or know how to use a gun. The tall woman who moved like a hurricane and set a plate with fourteen waffles, a heap of eggs and bacon, tomato slices, in front of him had known darkness, and this was how she coped. By taking care of people.

Bucky wondered if the fact that he could tell all that meant a few points in his favor, as far as recovery went. He was still a head case, but… getting better, slowly. Suddenly the anxiety that had been clawing at him tooth and nail since Steve woke him up that morning and told him there was a mission- _don’tgoyou’resosmallremembertobreathe_ \- abated. Pepper slid into the stool across from him, taking small bites of egg and tomato as she looked at him.

He bit into a toaster waffle smothered in syrup just as his watch went off, blaring the message EAT across its face.

No wonder Thor liked these things so much. Maybe the 21st Century wasn’t so bad, if it had Pepper and toaster waffles.

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Pepper was such a mom.

She made sure the laundry was getting done, had JARVIS update her on Tony's potentially dangerous experiments, made sure the med cabinets in every room were always fully stocked. When Bruce couldn't sleep she ordered him a new mattress and recommended her favorite candle scents. She and Natasha had infrequent shopping trips when the spy had clearly had enough of her male comrades. Steve she made sure wanted for nothing, always attentive to his needs and in the beginning the fact that maybe Tony's red, white, and blue spangled color scheme for his bedroom wasn't quite right so we can repaint it, honey, of course.

The early days when it was just Tony and Bruce living at the tower, with Natasha and Steve only using their rooms on occasion between missions when they were in the are, Pepper’s mothering tendencies had been endearing.

Never had it been more apparent than when Bucky came.

No one would say out loud how terrified they were that Bucky would hurt her if she came to stay, because Pepper was tough but it was her own kind of steel, the kind that you can't see and doesn't come in handy in a fistfight. They needn't have worried, though, because as soon as Pepper called him “Sweetie” Bucky was wrapped around her little finger and she was equally invested in his welfare.

Pepper helped trim Bucky's hair after breakfast, not knowing that she had just won an uphill battle that Bucky and Steve had been having in their minds since day one, and invited him to help her in the kitchen when she was cleaning their breakfast dishes. She was quiet, in a way that wasn't brimming with tension or spoke of hidden things. And he liked that, the quiet- liked her hair that reminded him of summer and her red lipstick, so like Peggy's, that reminded him there was a reason she could put up with Tony Stark. But more than that he liked the way she didn't treat him like he was harmless, but neither did she act like he was a time bomb. When he accidentally came down too hard on her hand when they were playing speed- the muffins still had five minutes left- she just told him to be careful, and shook it off, and helped him find a happy medium between winning and hurting her.

As it got later in the day, and colder, Bucky found himself worrying less and less about how Steve and the others were doing. He still had flashes of panic when he imagined red splayed across the white star on his chest, or when the heat washed over him when Pepper pulled blueberry muffins out of the oven and he found himself back in the middle of a burning street facing down Steve and Natasha, TARGET blaring in his mind.

Pepper had rubbed his back in small circles with her small hands until he was breathing normally again, and didn’t push him to speak or explain once he came out of the crouch. Truth be told, he didn’t trust himself not to answer in Russian and was too afraid of scaring her to open his mouth until he knew he wouldn’t mess up English.

When Pepper proposed playing cards again, and found out that he’d only ever used them for poker when he and the others were bored between missions back in ‘45, she broke out an entire stash of games and spread cushions on the living room floor. Bucky’s chest constricted at the easy way she settled herself down and patted the floor beside her, polished nails sliding over the cards and a smile on her face. Would he ever be able to do anything with that much ease and familiarity except load a gun or flip a knife?

There was only one way to find out.

She won the first three rounds of UNO.

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By the time the Avengers stumbled home, battered but still coming off their battle-highs, Pepper and Bucky had been playing cards for at least two hours after assorted boardgames, baking, and trash TV hadn’t proved amusement enough to kill the last few hours of the day. Solitaire, UNO, and a multitude of decks each set with different games were scattered around the living space across from the kitchen. Pepper was wrapped in what could be conceived as a glorified snuggie- Tony's words- that was actually a cashmere designer sleep-wrap, and Bucky was piled under blankets as they played speed, legs crossed, backs hunched over so they could be closer to the cards.

Their yells of delight were what drew the Avengers there first rather than the kitchen- it was a post-battle tradition to refuel before doing anything else. There was also the fact that it was the first time Bucky and Pepper had been left alone and as tough as Tony knew Pepper was, she wasn't a warrior, and even though Steve trusted Bucky that trust only went so far when a certain fragile strawberry-blonde was involved. They needn't have worried as they rounded the corner into the room, finding Bucky hunched over under his blankets like a child in a pillow fort, metal hand speeding out to cover a card before Pepper, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor across from him, could. As soon as metal shot out Steve felt his heart leap into his throat, but Pepper smacked his fingers admonishingly, looking completely at ease.

"You know that hand is faster than your other one, cheater," she smiled, and from Bucky's expression Steve knew that no one had looked at him that way in over seventy years. It was the way Mrs. Rogers used to look at him, when he brought Steve home after dragging him away from schoolyard bullies, how Mrs. Vittone downstairs sometimes looked at Steve when she brought extra blankets in the winter, knowing how frail Steve was.

Rather than getting angry or upset, Bucky put on an actual pouting face, the kind he used to use on Steve when he wanted to go to some science fair or museum back in the day. But he let Pepper have the card and ruefully shifted hands, and the next one that was flipped also went to Pepper because Steve could see that she was right about his speed, and was amazed. When he glanced over at Tony, the billionaire's face was white, but when he saw how carefully Bucky had been not to hurt Pepper with the metal hand the color began to trickle back in.

"Uh, ahem," Tony coughed, drawing attention to the entire team assembled at the living room entrance. Or rather, he and Steve, since Natasha and Thor had ambled off to the kitchen and Clint had probably stayed up on the roof with Sam, the birdbrains. Bruce had come in from a different elevator so that he could go straight to the lab and calm down after hulking out on the mission.

When Pepper looked up she frowned at the blood on Tony’s forehead, but when her careful eyes didn't detect any serious injuries she unwound herself from the floor. Bucky looked up sheepishly before hiding behind the Disney World Stitch mug that had been sitting beside him, taking a drink of whatever it contained.

"How'd it go, Tony?" Pepper asked, as if playing cards on the floor with a brainwashed super assassin was an everyday occurrence.

"Fine," Tony said, voice cracking just slightly. "You know, nearly death-experiences, robots, team bonding."

Pepper looked like she was about to reply- maybe the "near-death experiences" comment wasn't such a smart move on Tony's part- when she glanced down at Bucky and realized that he was holding an empty mug. Steve watched in fascination as all of her attention filtered away from Tony and centered on his best friend, and the obvious calamity that was his lack of drink.

"Here, I'm out too," she said, picking up her own mug which still had a little left in it and reaching out a hand for his. "I'll make more, sweetie."

As she padded out of the room, bare feet sinking into the carpet, she shot one last look at Bucky- playful, but firm. Mrs. Rogers warning Bucky not to touch that pie, young man, until you finish your food.

"No cheating," she warned, and couldn't keep the stern look once Bucky saluted at her and hid both hands behind his back. The way she shook her head gently and turned back to the kitchen, unimaginable fondness in her expression, pierced Steve to the core.

"How was it?" Bucky asked suddenly, glancing at Steve in concern.

"Just fine, Buck. We're all fine," Steve said, pleasantly surprised at not returning home to find an anxiety-ridden Bucky pacing trenches in the floor like he normally did. He'd have to thank Pepper later for keeping him occupied.

"Woah, you guys had cocoa?" Tony exclaimed suddenly, drawing Steve's gaze to the kitchen where Pepper was pouring brown powder into both mugs filled with steaming milk.

"It was cold and Bucky said he'd never had any," Pepper replied serenely, not looking at him. Natasha's smug face when she saw Tony's incredulous expression earned a chuckle from Steve.

"You had the first cocoa of winter without me? You traitor!" Tony exclaimed, looking utterly betrayed.

"What is this 'cocoa' you and Tony are speaking of?" Thor asked curiously between bites of a turkey and tomato sandwich. He and Nat were the biggest after-battle eaters, prompting more than one comment about how Thor's Midgardian shield-sister “must see the feasting halls of Asgard- you would give Volstagg a mighty competition!" She was picking at a similar sandwich, observing everything with still and amused eyes.

“I’ll get another mug, Thor,” Pepper smiled, reaching up into one of the cabinets and pulling out the largest coffee mug they had. “I’m assuming you took care of everything out west?” Tony was about to insist on cocoa before mission details when she grabbed his favorite mug- Stark Industries, of course- and three cocoa packets.

“Apparently the Hydra rats holed up in the base decided to make some noise before running into hiding,” Tony said.

“They set off all of their experimental androids- I guess that was Hydra’s next big thing, before Project Insight got the go-ahead. The whole place is nothing but dust now,” Steve sighed as he sank onto the couch, still wearing his uniform. He set the shield down on the floor next to Bucky before giving his friend a long look.

“Please tell me the assorted baked goods are up for grabs,” Natasha said from the kitchen, eying the row of blueberry muffins, cookies, brownies, and pumpkin bread lining the counters.

“Of course,” Pepper said, and instantly the Avengers were on them like starving wolves. Tony threw Steve a blueberry muffin the size of his fist.

“Looks like you had a good day,” Steve murmured, looking over Bucky’s haircut and clean-shaven face and the sudden lack of tension in his shoulders. Bucky frowned.

“Pepper’s… nice. I would have rather been out with you.”

“You know why we can’t do that,” Steve said, and Bucky nodded slowly, metal hand flexing.

“Can’t take any chances,” Bucky finished his thought for him, darkness settling in his eyes. He knew he couldn’t take the outside world yet, couldn’t trust himself not to snap near civilians or turn a Hydra base into a bloodbath- that wasn’t how the Avengers did things. Hell, Bucky barely remembered a third of his life so far, he was running on fumes- memories from Steve, or his own nightmares, occasionally Natasha’s when neither of them could sleep. No, they couldn’t take any chances.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” Pepper said suddenly, sinking down onto the couch next to Steve. “It’s about time Bucky stopped wearing your old clothes, Steve. He’s big, but not as big as you, and he can’t wear sweats for the rest of his life.”

Steve frowned. “I don’t know, Pepper. Today may have been fine, but-”

“Tomorrow I may wake up a raging psychopath with no memories except Hydra,” Bucky’s smile wasn’t even that- it was more like a grimace, pained but honest, and clearly unsettled Pepper.

“Has that… has that happened before?”

“Once,” Steve softly. “He nearly took Sam’s head off. We all thought we were going to have to start from scratch.”

“Thankfully, I’m still here,” Bucky said, tapping the side of his head. “Just… not all the time. Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think I’m quite ready for a grand shopping spree.”

“I’ll send someone out, then,” Pepper declared. “You’re a person and it’s time to dress like one. Natasha, could you help me?”

The assassin grinned. “Of course- I already have his measurements.”

Suddenly no one in the room wanted to know how, and all eyes looked away from Natasha and Bucky.

“Good. We’ll have new cloths by Monday, and as soon as you’re able we’re going shopping.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please leave me any comments/criticisms/suggestions in a review


	6. Domestic Bliss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading.   
>  Or rather, not, because this is Bucky and when does “Happy” ever truly enter and stay in the equation?

It took weeks- literally,  _weeks_ \- for Bucky to have a full conversation with anyone who wasn't Steve, Natasha, or Sam, and now Pepper. That meant days where Steve and Nat were on missions and Sam was at his apartment were just Bruce, Tony, and Bucky awkwardly dancing around each other. Most times Tony and Bruce just stayed holed up in their respective labs, Tony checking in with JARVIS every now and again to make sure Bucky was still breathing and the tower was still standing.

Most of the time he was just wandering around exploring, or sleeping- "Cryostasis isn't the same as sleep, and you have to ease out of it. He's been on ice for 70% of his life- he’ll need to adjust to constant activity with lots of regenerative sleep," was how he explained it to Steve after he panicked when Bucky didn’t wake up until evening one day. Tony just envied him his naps. Still, sometimes minimal interaction was necessary on Tony's part when it became apparent that Bucky wasn't doing well, like when JARVIS said he was lost in the basement- he still hadn't adjusted to JARVIS and Sam told them that it was best to include _human_ interaction wherever possible- and Tony had to direct him back up, although Bucky never said a word and looked ready to strangle Tony at the slightest provocation. It was Bruce's job to make sure there was always food available, since Tony was an atrocious cook and Bucky had that habit of forgetting to eat, even with the watch.  
So they fell into their little routine while Bucky's handlers were away, and for the most part they stayed out of each other's hair. That was, until Tony finally got too curious to leave Hydra’s files alone and it happened to be when Pepper was out of the tower.

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He had stayed away from the mission reports as he perused scientific data, the information needed in order to get Bucky healthy again and no more. The last thing Tony wanted was to look through pictures of kill shots, endless sequences of orders and missions and outlines of the brainwashing done on Hydra’s super soldier. But he had hours to himself and the capability to hack into the government servers currently hiding Hydra’s data after Natasha’s famous info-dump.

Idle hands do the devil’s work and, in this case, they were Tony’s hands.

Pepper found him still in his lab that evening, an open bottle of liquor and pages upon pages pulled up on his holoscreens.

“Tony?” she gasped, eyes tracking first across her completely wasted boyfriend who was sprawled out in his work chair and staring up at the ceiling, and then to the screens. What she saw made her heart skip a beat, and she had to swallow a scream of by slapping a hand over her mouth.

**Howard and Maria Stark Killed in Automobile Accident**

**Son of Weapons Tycoon Howard Stark Orphaned**

**Obediah Stane Rises to Power in Stark Industries**

Those were only a few of the newspaper headlines popped up on the holoscreens next to assorted files scanned in Russian and German, and when Pepper reached out a tentative hand to move them aside the option to Translate came up with the Hydra symbol stamped on it. It was only the blank look on Tony’s face that made her translate the section of text next to a picture of Bucky. She stoically ignored the other pictures- a wrecked car, a rich funeral, Howard and Maria’s obituaries- and scanned the translation with mounting horror.

Bucky would never do something like this.

But he wasn’t Bucky, then.

_Mission Classification: Success. Targets Howard and Maria Stark terminated in an automobile accident en route to the Stark Expo. Zero civilian casualties, Winter Soldier not identified. No proof of sabotage on the vehicle. Obediah Stane in place as head of Stark Industries. Anthony Stark- Classification: Irrelevant._

“Tony, talk to me,” Pepper urged, reaching out and touching his shoulder gently. He twitched, looked at her- his gaze was harrowing. “What happened?”

“I couldn’t keep my fucking hands still,” he muttered. “I had to know. I…” he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and contemplated his glass, but Pepper’s gaze moved it away from his lips. “I almost did something I’m not proud of, Pep.”

“What-” Pepper’s heart was in her throat, the shattered liquor bottles and pieces of scattered Iron Man armor around them already putting her on edge but she still reached out to take the bottle away from him. He didn’t fight- too far gone into his rant to notice. “What did you do?”

“I put on the suit, and went to find him,” Tony swallowed, eyes wide and looking beyond her. “I didn’t know what I was gonna do- didn’t care, but he was upstairs sleeping on the couch, and he looked so tired I bet he hasn’t slept in months. I had nightmares when I first got back.”

He shook his head, wiped his hair back, looked about to collapse in on himself but he kept going.

“The TV was on some stupid cooking show that Steve probably left on for him but all my clunking woke him up and the way he looked at me… God, he must have thought he was still dreaming when he saw me wasted and stomping around. I-I saw him look at me and I thought about when he first woke up, confused, angry, but he just looked so lost, Pep. Like a homeless guy who got dumped in the park. The Winter Soldier is a murderer, but when I saw him I wasn’t just looking at the monster… I kept thinking ‘This guy is Steve’s best friend.’ The Sergeant James Barnes dad used to tell me about when he was feeling particularly paternal. American hero and a victim of hellish circumstances. An unintentional murderer who can’t remember anything and- how… how could I stay angry?”

But he _was_ angry, and confused, and wiped at his eyes to stop the tears Pepper knew he never let fall. Turning away, he grabbed the empty glass and flung it across the lab furiously. His shoulders shook silently.

“Tony,” Pepper murmured, smoothing her hands along his arms and shoulders, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. A wracking sob tore itself from his throat and he turned abruptly, pressing his head into her shoulder. Her arms wrapped around him and she trailed kisses along his head, murmuring softly. “Tony, you have every right to be angry, but Bucky isn’t the W- he isn’t the person Hydra forced him to be.”

“I know,” Tony muttered. “But I… you should go.”

His voice was a sigh against her skin as he pulled away, revealing red-rimmed eyes. Brow furrowing she took a step forward-

“Trust me, Pep,” he smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be fine. I just… need to clear my head.”

“Please God nothing involving bullets, or shooting, or-or bad guys,” Pepper said, and Tony laughed softly. He kissed her once on the forehead, and where his lips touched her skin burned.

“I won’t even be late for dinner,” he promised. Pepper nodded reluctantly, leaving only when he promised several more times not to leave the lab and not to miss dinner.

When he finally showed up later that night he was almost unnaturally calm. Pepper noticed several bandages on his arms and a burn across his cheek, and made a mental note to tell JARVIS never to let Tony tamper with any of his inventions while he was drunk, distraught, or both. He didn’t look at Bucky once.

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Tony found him in a position painfully reminiscent of his own just a few days before- slumped over in a chair, surrounded by bad memories, only this time there was no alcohol in sight and rather than digital displays there were paper files covering the living room floor. Bucky sat on the couch in the middle of the paper tornado, metal arm a skeleton trashed and bleeding wires, oil, metal plating but the super soldier paid it no mind as he read the papers in assorted Russian, German, and English in front of him, face a steadily growing mask of rage.

“I figured it wouldn’t be long,” Tony said, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame. Bucky’s head shot up, shoulders stiffening, but when he saw Tony the intensity in his expression paled. Tony saw his throat convulse, flesh and blood fingers opening and closing in a fist, and he frowned. “No need to trash the arm, though- that couldn’t have been easy.”

The crusting blood under Bucky’s fingernails suggested that no, it wasn’t.

“I could fix it for you, if you want. Upgrade it. Hydra’s so inelegant-”

“Why are you helping me?” Bucky rasped, looking back down so his long dark hair obscured his face. Tony had to take a deep breath before responding, and he still didn’t move any closer to Bucky.

“Because I like to fix things,” he shrugged. “And you could use a pick-me-up, since booze is off the menu.”

“I murdered so many people. I killed your parents. I-I remember Howard, liked him. He was funny like you and I killed him and his wife,” Bucky said, still not looking up so all Tony got was the anguish in his voice and the self-loathing that was all-too-familiar. “I made you an orphan.”

Tony stiffened at that, but none of the feelings from a few nights ago resurfaced and he kept a clear head as he watched Bucky pull one of the files to the forefront, where a large picture of Howard and Maria Stark on their wedding day was stamped over with the bright red letters: TERMINATED.

“I know,” Tony said as candidly as he could, and Bucky looked up in shock.

“Why-”

“Because you aren’t the one who rigged the car,” he said firmly. “Now let me fix that arm before the oil ruins my couch.”

“I hate it,” Bucky said, casting a look of utter loathing at the thing attached to his body, and Tony had a brief flicker of how he’d felt returning home from the desert and seeing his weapons again. The first time he saw the Jericho missiles had home he’d thrown up and made Rhodey promise not to tell Pepper.

“You know, stage one of this thing was a car battery hooked up to a magnet someone shoved in my chest,” Tony said, tapping the glowing blue arc reactor through the thin material of his nightshirt. Bucky’s brow furrowed in interest, and Tony took it as a good sign of him getting his mind off the arm. “I hated it, too, but now it’s the power source of my greatest creation. The suit. I save people with that thing. How are you going to do anything, let alone save anyone, if you keep tearing apart one of your limbs? Not much use to Steve if he gets in trouble, are you?”

Bucky sighed, a deep shudder emanating from the depths of his soul, but he uncurled himself from the chair and crossed over the files to where Tony was standing.

“You can fix it?” he asked warily. Tony clapped him on the back before he could think about what he just promised.

“Better.”

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“Bad news,” Tony said, wheeling his chair across the lab to where Bucky laid back on the examination table, face chalky white. Tony had offered to let Bucky just sit in a normal chair and drape his arm across one of the desks, but he’d just clenched his jaw and shook his head, gotten onto the table with jerky movements that betrayed the anxiety he wouldn’t- or couldn’t- voice. But Tony wasn’t one to stop anyone’s confrontation with their demons, so he just kept an eye on Bucky’s pulse and kept the Mark V active in a corner.

Bucky frowned, turning to look at him.

“We can’t remove it,” Tony sighed, eying the trashed arm with more distaste than he’d ever shown a mechanical invention. In fact, his gaze looked like downright loathing, and he pointedly avoided looking at the scarring on Bucky’s shoulder that stitched skin to metal. Bucky’s flesh and blood hand clenched into a fist. “The only way you can use it is because it’s synced to your neural pathways, but according to the scans that maniac also physically melded it to your skin and bone, and not delicately. Removing it would mean intensive surgery, potential permanent nerve damage to your shoulder and upper body, and first shutting down the neural links between the arm and you, which would physically feel like losing your real arm all over again.”

Bucky looked like he was going to be sick, or kill someone, or both, but he said nothing.

“O-K. Since we’re _not_ putting you through trauma that could drive a super soldier crazy and potentially kill one of us normal people, I’m going to do the next best thing. If I leave the inner skeleton in-tact, I can rewire about seventy percent of it and completely redo all of the outer plating, upgrades and all-”

“Do it,” Bucky rasped, and Tony shook his head.

“I wasn’t done. I would have to turn off certain neural pathways individually and re-work it piece by piece, which’ll be like having one arm go completely numb for an extended period of time- ergo, extremely unpleasant experience. You still good with this, frosty?”

Bucky scowled at the name, but nodded, and Tony sighed.

“This is going to feel extremely unpleasant.”

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When Tony clipped something inside one of the arm’s control panels it immediately went dead, a hunk of metal welded to Bucky’s body that sent an unpleasant sensation through him- as though the arm had merely fallen asleep. It took all of his willpower not to panic, but when he closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, heard his heartrate decrease, a small thrill of triumph went through him. He could do this.

Hours later they were still working, Tony doing God knows what on the exposed skeleton of the arm, metal outer plating all scrapped by one of his robots.

“Tin Man and Terminator," Tony muttered while he worked, tools gently rerouting some of the wires. Suddenly his head popped up, and he looked at Bucky with an expression that made him very, very nervous.

"Hey, say 'Hasta la vista, baby,'" he said. Bucky frowned, wondering whether or not it was some type of trick. Dimly he registered that the old him probably would have appreciated whatever mischief was about to occur, and decided to take a chance.  
“Hasta la vista... baby?" he said slowly. Tony shook his head.  
"No, you've got to say it stronger. Like you just took out an entire gang of guys who were coming after you and you're spitting on their boots."  
Bucky frowned. He knew the feeling Tony was describing, but struggled to reach it. Then something within him surfaced- one of the earliest memories he'd recovered. Everything was dim, all green and brown and grey, but he remembered vividly the red and orange lighting up the Hydra base as he and the rest of the Commandos sped away in a stolen truck, Steve speeding alongside them on his bike. Capturing that feeling, Bucky tried again.  
"Hasta la vista, baby!"  
Tony's arms shot up in triumph, and he let out a crow of laughter.  
"Yes! That was almost perfect," he said, returning absently to his work. "As soon as you get your new arm, I'm showing you the 'Terminator' trilogy, but the first one is the best."  
Bucky just nodded- he'd worry about whatever potentially damaging movies Tony wanted to show him later.

 _As soon as you get your new arm._  
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The next morning when Steve found Bucky sleeping in the lab with Tony passed out on the floor next to the examination table, he breathed a sigh of relief. Gently shaking both of them awake, he asked about the mess of Bucky’s arm and Tony explained, when Bucky just blinked owlishly through sleep-hazy eyes, that he was helping Bucky reclaim himself, so to speak, metaphorically but also literally because Hydra’s arm was trash and he was making it better. And it would only take a few more hours- once his order arrived.

“Order?” Steve frowned, but Tony just smiled.

“Sorry- it’s a secret. Give us about ten more hours and I’ll call everyone down for the grand unveiling.”

Steve didn’t like the idea of Bucky being stuck in a lab at Tony’s mercy for that long, but amazingly Bucky seemed almost relaxed, so Steve settled for bringing them food every once and a while and sparring with Thor since “Friend Barnes is otherwise occupied with Anthony.”

Exactly eleven hours and forty two minutes later Tony rang everyone in the tower to get down to his lab, _now_ , because he had a miracle to display and receive appreciation for. Everyone, even Bruce, rushed down.   
"Adamantium," Tony said proudly, showing Bucky the assembled pieces laid out on the table as the other Avengers clustered in the background. "Hardest metal on earth, damn near impossible to melt, scratch, hell, you could drop the Titanic on it and it wouldn't even dent."  
"Where did you manage to get it?" Bruce asked, looking at it in awe.  
"S.H.I.E.L.D. has some fascinating contacts, and since it didn't look like they'd be needing it any time soon, I took the liberty of... Rehoming it. Suddenly. Last night."  
"So, this is really going to be better?" Bucky asked, semi-dismantled arm hanging limp and heavy from his side, synthetic nerve endings completely numbed.  
"You bet- higher grade metal, more flexibility, won't ever rust or corrode. It’s a big improvement over this piece of junk. Also, we can give it a new paint job if you want,” Tony grinned. Bucky nodded once before Tony abruptly turned on the others, shooing them out because he had work to do and he’d call them in again later to bask in the glory of Stark Industries’ newest line of prosthetics, graciously modeled by a veteran himself.

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To allow for adamantium’s rigidity, Bucky’s new arm was assembled piece by piece in a pattern not unlike the metal plating on his old one, but this time with more rotating parts and hidden catches that allowed for more streamline movement. The sleek silver metal winked in the lab lights, unblemished and smooth, and when Tony finally powered it back up Bucky felt like he’d gotten a shot of adrenaline.

Metal fingers grasping and clenching, shoulder rolling to test the connection- there was nothing Tony could do about the scars or the arm’s base, but he’d taken off as much as he could so there was just a sliver of metal between Bucky’s skin and the adamantium. Bucky’s breath stilled at the sensation of the new limb, no longer a parasite, but a gift, and he almost didn’t notice that Tony had begun to speak.

“You know, what you did wasn’t your fault,” Tony said, arms crossed as he looked at the arm with a guarded expression. “My dad… he told me enough about the Howling Commandos for me to know that you were the best of them.”

“I still have nightmares,” Bucky murmured, surprise rippling through him when Tony nodded.

“Does your serum let you get drunk?”

“No.”

“Want a drink?”

“Hell yeah.”

Tony poured drinks and it was four o’clock in the afternoon and neither had slept but they didn’t notice, especially when Tony suggested painting something new on the shoulder, since the arm looked empty without something there and a red star was out of the question. Bucky agreed but didn’t say anything else and, going off the look Bucky had shot Steve earlier when Tony mentioned paint, Tony had JARVIS render a new design for the arm: Captain America’s shield. Bucky didn’t say anything during the two-hour painting process, and neither did Steve when Tony announced that his work was done. They just looked at each other, standing at opposite ends of Tony’s lab, until Steve smiled.

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After fixing his arm, Tony realized that it was probably time for Bucky to catch up with other wonders of the modern world, too.

Bucky was surprisingly adept at learning how to use modern technology, before Natasha reminded Steve that Bucky had gotten glimpses of each decade, rather than being stuck permanently in the forties. That being said, Bucky was an expert with _weapons_ technology, so while he was overwhelmed by no modern invention, operating the microwave gave him some pause.

So after breaking the coffee machine, TV remote, and Sam's MP3 player- he'd felt terrible, since Sam had lent it to him for a workout and he'd made the mistake of using his metal hand- Tony declared a How-To day, during which Bucky would learn absolutely everything about anything in the Tower that Tony was afraid he would break, given his increased autonomy and the frequency of the Avengers’ missions taking down rogue Hydra bases and other global or continental crises. The various "tests" at its finale consisted of Bucky's ability to use Google, make a microwave pizza and a pot of coffee, change channels without cracking the remote or getting frustrated by Tony's ridiculous modifications, work JARVIS' holo-screens, and use an iPhone.

He passed everything with flying colors, mostly- Clint swore up and down that Bucky was banned from coffee duty for the remainder of his serum-enhanced life. And when it came to the iPhone, even though Bucky knew _how_ to work it, his dominant hand was metal and every time he tried to tap the screen it went screwy or didn't work at all. Seeing his growing frustration, Steve gently took the phone from him, glancing at Tony worriedly.  
The genius looked fascinated, and Steve hoped he wasn't about to crack some sort of-  
"Well, that was rather dis _arming_ ," he said, and Steve struggled between laughing and hitting Tony on his smug face. No one should look that proud of an amputee pun.  
"Tony..." Steve warned as he noticed the expression on Bucky's face. It was a mixture of anger and frustration.  
Tony glanced at Steve and then Bucky before tossing the phone nonchalantly across the room. Bucky flinched as it smacked against the far wall, but Steve was suddenly grinning.  
"Don't sweat it, buddy- I've got my own performance issues, remember?" Tony said, tapping the arc reactor glowing beneath his shirt. "Without it I'm dead as a door nail."  
"Oh, right," Bucky said, focusing intently on the glowing blue, arm forgotten. Steve looked between them and wondered if they might not get along, after all- who knew what they’d done to fill the empty hours while Tony worked on his arm?  
"I'll fix the phone. And maybe sue Apple for not giving a super soldier a hand and making better products," Tony said.  
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Tony stayed in that night to revamp an iPhone for Bucky, while Nat, Clint, Steve, and Sam went out- somehow they even managed to convince Bruce to come with them, though Sam was the most persuasive and easygoing of the group so if anyone could keep the Big Guy calm it was him. With Thor out with Jane at the new Observatory, the tower was virtually empty. Consequently, Tony was the only one home to hear the sudden blasting music and equally nerve-wracking silence.

"Uh, you okay up there, buddy?" Tony called, creeping out of the elevator on the dorm floor slowly. Swallowing, he recalled a very similar incident from a few weeks ago, and a pang shot through him- please don't let this be like the _I-discovered-you-killed-my-parents-but-I-forgive-you incident_ …  
As he sneaked into the living room, heart beginning to hammer painfully, he was greeted with a sight that was more amusing than frightening. Bucky, in his new black sleep pants- courtesy of Pepper, since she insisted they wait until he could go shopping to get him real clothes-, was standing in front of the partial ruin of Tony's stereo, a fist-sized hole punched through the right speaker.  
"Need some help?" Tony asked, approaching cautiously, more nervous about Bucky than the stereo. It had been a week since he got his new arm, and already it had been used to destroy-  
No, wrong train of thought. Healing mentality, Sam had said. Even if he seemed fine, it would take more than a few months for him to really become himself.  
      "I'm sorry," Bucky groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I couldn't sleep"- _because Nat and Steve aren't here_ \- "and when I turned it on it just started blaring. I still... Don't do so well with sudden noises."  
      Bucky had gone from snapping into assassin mode every time he was surprised to flinching so violently Tony thought he was having a fit. Now, apparently his reaction had been... Smash the stereo.  
      Still, loud music shouldn't have warranted a reaction like this, and Bucky's human hand flexed and relaxed spastically. Tony frowned, but said nothing when he went over to inspect the stereo.  It was only the right speaker, something he could fix with a few parts from his lab, probably. Just taking it off completely was also an option, and Tony wondered how easy it would be to add on a completely different one. For the man who designed the iron man suit, child's play.  
      "I guess we missed 'Stereo 101' on our learning day," he joked, straightening up and throwing Bucky a small, reassuring smile. "Don't worry- it's a quick fix, and I can always get a better one. The perks of being a billionaire."  
      Bucky nodded, looking anywhere but the ruined stereo.  
      "Hey, I'll just get you an iPod to go with your phone," Tony said, face lighting up with his lightbulb moment. "No need to wreck anymore stereos, and your own music."  
        "What's an iPod?" Bucky asked, frowning.  
      Tony sighed inwardly- every time they thought they had all their bases covered, an error was revealed. Turning and lifting the twisted hunk of stereo- he needed something else to fiddle with to keep him from drinking or shooting something- Tony bumped Bucky's shoulder.  
      "I'll tell you in the morning. You really should try to get some sleep- if Mother America comes home and you're all raccoon on the couch, he's going to have some words for me."  
        "I'm not a child," Bucky insisted, but Tony turned and gave him what Pepper liked to call his "Don't bullshit me, that's my job" look.  
        "JARVIS monitors every inch of this tower- except Natasha's room. I know about the 2am gym routines and Netflix night-binges. You need sleep."  
"According to everyone else you don't sleep, either," Bucky challenged, crossing his arms.  
"But I'm the team's designated self-destructive maniac, not you," Tony corrected. "Come on- I'll give you some superhuman grade pills that'll knock you out for at least a few hours."  
That paused Bucky, defensive position cracking at the edges. He licked his lips nervously and swallowed, arms shifting.  
"You have to get over it sometime," Tony said gently. "They're just harmless pills."  
Bucky nodded jerkily, and approached Tony. They went down to the med center together, and ten minutes later Bucky was sprawled out on his mattress in a coma-like sleep and Tony was thanking his lucky stars that the only thing broken was the stereo.  
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Later Tony reassembled the radio to figure out what song had last been playing, curious as to what had set off the infamous Winter Soldier- the volume wasn’t set that loud at all, and no way Bucky would be spooked enough to break it after weeks of rehabilitation to prevent violent reactions like that. Last piece in place, he clicked the on button and hit play. As the first few notes of "Icarus," by Bastille filtered out, Tony's hands gently came to rest on the table, fiddling stopped momentarily as the blood drained from his face.

_"Icarus is flying too close to the sun/Icarus's life, it had only just begun..."_

"Fuck.”

Tony kicked back from the table and brought his hands to tangle through his hair. They came to rest on the back of his neck, supportive, calloused, warm.

No wonder Bucky flipped out- if Tony had as many problems, and he had his fair share, it was likely that he would have, too.

They'd all seen the way Bucky looked at Steve- like he was the sun, the goddamn center of his entire universe, but how could it have felt learning that while you were a prisoner of war your friend was getting super steroids? How did it feel now that you had the same thing, but infinitely worse?

Icarus had been held up to the sun, burned, and then dropped back into the ocean.

Tony dumped the entire stereo into the trash, and before he crashed made sure that a brand new ipod would be waiting for Bucky by morning- this time, no Bastille.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really my writing is just going through a sucky phase, so I’m sorry- this is all plot. Please give me any comments/criticisms/suggestions or scenes you may want to see between Bucky and family avengers! There IS a shopping scene coming, and some Clint/Sam/Bucky scenes so no worries about those for those of you who expressed interest.


	7. Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I have completely given up a coherent POV. This story is rapidly devolving, for that I apologize. I also apologize because I will not be fixing it, so prepare yourselves for third person omniscient/limited switching without warning and I hope it doesn’t drive you nuts. Also no coherent plot, just assorted snapshots with weak bridges.

The new arm did unspoken wonders for Bucky’s recovery, and after so long feeling disjointed in the modern world he- and the Avengers- began to realize that him becoming whole again was not as impossible or grueling as they thought. Tony gave him an ipod that responded to his metal arm that he could use while working out, he rediscovered coffee even though it didn’t do anything for him, he started running with Sam and Steve on either side. In the misty New York mornings Central Park hid them from view, and they stuck to obscure trails as Bucky reintegrated himself with fresh air and the smell of green and dirt, foreign and beautiful especially when they stopped to take breaks for Sam’s sake. He was a good sport, and with him and Steve Bucky started to feel grounded for the first time, less like a machine and more like a person who could take morning jogs without exploding, without endangering those around him. With no S.H.I.E.L.D. or Hydra to keep tabs on him he had the room not to worry about being forced back under someone’s thumb, and the steady, collective guard the Avengers formed around him both for his benefit and the rest of the world’s was a comfort.

In addition to Bucky’s recovery, if there was only one thing about the strange new state of the Avengers’ existence that no one questioned, it was Natasha’s right to do absolutely anything and everything she wanted, to a degree- especially where Bucky was concerned. Steve’s claim on the former Winter Soldier went without saying, but after everyone got the Red Room run-down (condensed version- traumatic childhood experiences, traumatic adulthood experiences as a spy, experiences involving Bucky) Natasha’s new shadow status went unnoticed. At least out loud. Whenever Bucky was having a bad night and Natasha was there, she was the one who found him, led him back to bed, and stood outside his door for the entire night as though her mere presence could frighten away the nightmares. Maybe it did- no one asked, although the unspoken rule was that whatever Natasha knew, Clint knew, and whatever information anyone had on Bucky, Steve knew, but Captain America and Hawkeye kept their lips sealed unless it was pertinent to the entire team. Whenever Bucky needed someone to spar with it was Natasha or Thor, because they all saw the pain in his eyes when Steve mentioned training with him that first time and silently decided that Bucky was still too broken to dare go near his friend in even a vaguely threatening manner. Steve understood, but what had followed was a painful conversation about guilt, and hurt, and seventy years of trauma, and Bucky refused to even go into mock-combat with his friend until they were sure he was himself again- there were still bad days.

So when Pepper declared it was time for Bucky to leave the tower for a shopping trip, and Darcy signed herself up- she was there helping Jane with sciencey-things but Thor had offered to take her place to give Darcy some free time- no one batted an eyelash when Natasha slipped into the back of the car next to Bucky before it drove off. Pepper saw Natasha thread her fingers through Bucky’s metal ones, and hid the small smile that graced her features as Happy navigated the New York streets. Darcy was grinning like a fool- she’d confided in Pepper when the CEO formally announced the shopping trip that Bucky and Nat _definitely_ had a thing, and it was adorable in a fractured, depressing sort of way. The same way Steve and Bucky’s almost orbital behavior around the other was.

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It quickly became apparent, in the giant clothing store whose name Bucky couldn’t remember because he was too busy soaking in the 21st Century marvel of pre-made cloths and the sheer number of people surrounding them, that Bucky’s sense of style was one thing that hadn’t changed since his Hydra days. Everything about him gravitated towards dark colors that were more appropriate for a funeral than winter, and even though Pepper managed to slip in some less-depressing shades of green and blue Bucky’s style morphed into what Darcy dubbed the look of a “Sad Trash Hobo.” When he stepped out of the changing rooms after the third hour wearing a pair of strapped and studded black boots, skinny jeans, a black tank top, and a grunge coat, Darcy almost collapsed on top of herself and Pepper looked like she wanted to stuff Bucky into a white suit or at least some sky blue t-shirts. Natasha said nothing, but the look in her eyes was appreciative as it slid up and down Bucky’s new repertoire, Civilian Winter Soldier.

“They’re better than the ones we ordered,” was all Pepper said, lips in a thin line despite the fact that she was secretly delighted that they’d gotten so far without any incident at all. She’d only had a few cloths made and shipped in after her day with him, mostly lounge cloths and simple pants and t-shirts, but she was a firm believer in on-sight testing and despite being on edge Bucky had behaved wonderfully, leaving all the talking to Pepper and Natasha while Darcy pranced around like an excited puppy.

“I take back my earlier comment,” Darcy said. “Those boots definitely earn ‘ _Prince_ Sad Trash Hobo.’”

Frowning, Bucky just waited, as he had been, for someone to say “buy” or “trash it.” Saying “no” was still a difficult thing for him, so he’d gotten away with the all-black outfits by mercy of Pepper becoming tuned in to his facial reactions to blue and green and any color, really. Once the clothes were on it was the girls’ job to say yay or nay.

“You look nice, Bucky,” Pepper sighed, and Bucky’s shoulders visibly lifted at the warmth in her voice. “But whose idea were the jeans?”

“Mine,” Darcy piped up proudly. “And we’re getting them, definitely.”

Bucky frowned, hands shoved deep in the pockets of the black pants Darcy had dubbed “skinny jeans.”

“Why?” he queried, not against them- they reminded him of the Winter Soldier uniform and in a sick way he was too used to tight clothing to find comfort in baggy shirts and sweatpants anymore.

“So that your lady friend and every other eligible woman in New York can admire your metaphorically star-spangled ass,” Darcy grinned, causing Pepper to cover her mouth and Natasha’s eyes to narrow. Brows furrowing, Bucky shot a look at Natasha at the “lady friend” comment. She just smiled reassuringly.

“What do _you_ think of them, James?” Natasha asked, and Bucky just shrugged. That was his general method of communicating “yes” so Pepper just told him to change again and they’d go look at suits.

Why he needed a suit was beyond him, but Pepper said that with the Avengers you never knew and three hours later they left the store laden with bags that Darcy sorted into “Prince of Darkness,” “Hobo Chic,” “Goth kid,” and “Tall, Dark, and Handsome.” Bucky tuned out her chattering in the car and didn’t flinch or fight it when Natasha brought his head down to rest on her shoulder. He slept the whole ride back to the tower.

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Darkness loomed over his mind and body, the hall so completely devoid of light that there weren’t even shadows. Of course, he didn’t need light to find his way to her room, but the pervasive ache in his chest didn’t need a physical reminder of his pitiful existence. Steve needed his rest after days of staying up all night talking Bucky through panic attacks and painful memories, and he didn’t want to bother Sam- he already did too much for this ruin of a soldier, he had no obligation to wade through Bucky’s shitstorm of a brain at two in the morning- so that left Natasha.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there wondering what he was even doing, hand not even poised to knock, before the door slid open.

“Do you want to spar?” she asked, leaning on the door frame with her arms crossed over the plum pajama top, hair mussed from sleep but eyes bright and alert.

He shook his head.

“Coffee?”

No response but a slight downward twitch of the lips.

“Jogging in Central Park?”

Head shake.

Natasha sighed, raising her chin and appraising him with her green, green eyes.

“What do you want, James?” she murmured, and the question hung between them with quiet intensity.

Bucky swallowed, hands clenching, something under his skin finally feeling _right_ , like the way she’d smiled at him in the store and even before then, how she didn’t flinch touching his metal fingers, how she said they had a past but didn’t clarify and it made him thankful. “That’s me. James.”

Natasha nodded.

“It finally feels like my name.”

A full-blown smile stretched across her face and before he could move she was embracing him, arms wrapping around his waist as her forehead pressed into his neck. It was an infinitely different feeling than when Steve hugged him, desperation mixed with fierce love and an unspoke promise- _I will never let you fall_. There was longing in this contact, and quiet acceptance, and when Natasha gently kissed his skin he knew she understood what he meant and why he hadn’t knocked on her door. His name finally felt right, but this life was only just starting to.

They did end up jogging until both were completely exhausted, not a word exchanged between them from the moment they left the tower to when they parted in the hallway. But she _understood_ , and that, along with the reclaiming of his name, kept the nightmares away long enough for him to actually sleep.

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Life fell into a rhythm, slowly, and everyone began to think that life post-S.H.I.E.L.D. might not actually be so bad. Between establishing themselves as a global crisis team that could still be trusted, keeping Bucky hidden away from the public eye- with the files released it had become global knowledge a few days after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. that Bucky Barnes was alive and the assassin known as the Winter Soldier, but so far no government agencies had come knocking on the tower doors and they planned to keep it that way, especially considering all of the PR and government meetings Natasha and Steve had been attending.

But they were still super-humans- most of them- who needed room to run, so a constant of their new schedule was training in custom-built Stark gyms beneath the tower.

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According to the watch settled on Natasha's cloths, it had been six hours, and they had only just begun to break a sweat.

" _Again_ ," Natasha urged, fists held up close to her face in defense as Bucky prowled around her. In the whole of their time each had only managed to land a scant number of blows, most of the match being a sort of heavyweight circus act with each other as the equipment, actual boxing gloves discarded long ago.

"Again," she commanded. He flew at her. Silence was his herald and there was something deeply disturbing about the hulk of a man, metal arm gleaming, racing towards her without a sound. Mental recovery had done nothing to diminish the deadly skill he had fostered during his Winter Soldier days.

As his fist flew she ducked down around his outstretched arm, fingers flying out to jab his side with enough power to bruise a rib. Flying around, his arm clipped the back of her neck, destroying her tenuous balance and momentum. She had to tuck into a role to avoid his kick.

"Still evenly matched, after all this time," she called from her place a few feet away. A smile flitted across his face as he began circling again.

"Or not," he grunted, unable to stay silent when she spoke. It was both the product of the talkative Avengers and having been virtually silent for the past seventy years; either way, it felt good to finally respond to someone.

They leapt into it again, Natasha's speed and biting blows working overtime to avoid Bucky's superhuman strength which, if latched on, would do all it could to break her. This went on for another brief, violent flurry of time, before Natasha had him pinned between her thighs on the ground.

"Having fun yet?" he grunted as he shoved up and away, a parody of their fight in the streets where his identity had first been revealed. Almost six feet off the ground she struggled to stay on. When it became impossible and his metal arm reached up, she vaulted off his broad shoulders.

"That would have an easy kill, if I didn't like you so much," Natasha said. The heat was growing between them, their intensity in no way lessened by the past six hours. Sweat dripped down into Natasha's eyes, and she wiped it away irritably. In the split second her eye was obscured Bucky took his chance, racing across the open space and bending down at the last minute to slide across the mat. His metal arm looped around her waist, her hands braced against his shoulder to pull herself up before he tightened, but he managed to catch her calf. She tried to wrest herself free and turn him, but this time he was too firmly rooted and she struggled with his ungainly weight.

"Vy ( _You_ )..." she gritted in annoyance, hanging on to his shoulder as he flipped her in an attempt to get her in a chokehold. "Nesete cheloveka ( _bear of a man_ ).”

She felt the change in his core, the way he chest tightened and the arm that wormed around her neck was no longer loose in friendly competition.

"James-"

His arm tightened, flesh crushing her windpipe as he forced her back to his chest with his metal arm. There was no trace of James Buchanan Barnes in this man who was trying to strangle the life from her- that was why she felt no remorse when she reached back and raked her nails across his face. A grunt of pain was all the response she got, but he faltered long enough when she reached his eye for her to free her chin and lean down.

Teeth sinking into his arm, he released her immediately. She got three feet before his metal arm shot out and wrapped around her wrist, but three feet was enough. Letting the pull of his wrist do all the work for her, she brought one leg up and down in a vicious kick that could have broken his arm if he wasn't half a second too slow. Ankle digging deep into his shoulder, Natasha and the Winter Soldier were brought reeling to the floor. She wrenched herself from his metal grip and rolled onto his chest, slamming the back of his head against the concrete floor just beyond the edge of the mats.

As soon as his body relaxed, killer fingers spreading from their angry fists, she knew Bucky had returned.

"James!" He didn't move, and for one terrible moment the only indication that he was alive was the ragged rise and fall of his chest. Natasha quickly moved to his side, on her knees as she gently probed the back of his head. There would be a bruise, but no blood- she wasn't fool enough to think that she had broken him, with the Nazi super serum flowing in his veins.

"James," she murmured, and his eyelids flickered, metal fingers twitching. Natasha saw the move right before it happened, but Bucky's bulk overtook her before she could move and in a heartbeat she was trapped beneath him, arms held captive by his hands, legs pinned by his feet on either side. There was panic and pain in his eyes that clued her in to the instinctive nature of the move, so when she lifted her head it was a slow and careful, her breath mingling with his.

His chest rose and fell raggedly with his breaths, sweat coating his bare skin. Natasha's forehead was soaked, and when Bucky's head fell forward their foreheads met, mouths almost touching, sweat and heat mingling. Natasha tried to catch his eyes but his were closed and down, brow furrowed. At her sides his hands were curled into fists.

Natasha swallowed at the sudden urge that flowed through her on a river of memory, the need to find out just what Bucky was thinking, would respond to, after losing himself again. It was her own instinct that guided her next move- and the memory of an enemy spy curled against her as a storm raged somewhere beyond.

" _Moya dorogaya_ ," Natasha said, bringing up a hand- he let go at once- to comb his hair back from his face. He twitched but still didn't open his eyes.

"Ya ne khochu prichinyat tebe bol,( _I don't want to hurt you_ )-" he began, then seemed to force the words back down when he realized they were in the wrong language. "Ya ne khotel, chtoby ( _I didn't mean to_ )-" again he spoke in Russian, and the conflict in his face grew.

"It's alright," Natasha said, forcing his head up so that their eyes met. His green was dark, stormy, and filled with the battle Natasha herself had fought and won so many years ago. Now Bucky was no longer alone on the battlefield- Natasha wouldn't let him do anything else he would regret, but she had to make it perfectly clear that there was nothing he could do to her. Nothing that had not already been done, at least.

"You'll get better." Slowly one of her legs untangled itself and wrapped around his waist. He stiffened, but did nothing. "We just have to take it slow, and help you keep control."

In one swift move her legs locked and her hands pushed up against him. Rising quickly she rolled him over on the mat, their positions suddenly reversed. This time her legs were tight on his waist, arms pinning his wrists, face bent low to his. Although he had resisted initially Natasha's voice in his ear stopped him, and bit by bit he relaxed his body, until his hands were spread wide and his chest loose as he had been when he was unconscious. His head thudded against the mats, a tired sigh leaving him.

"See?" Natasha said, raising herself up. "Control. You are not what they made you."

"Control..." When he realized he said it in English, a broken smile stretched across his face.

Returning the look, Natasha began to unwind herself, hyper aware of their position now that imminent death was no longer part of the equation. Her fingers brushed his when she withdrew her hands- stretching out her legs she could feel his chest beneath her. A memory stirred when she slid off of him, a memory of warm water, and cold air, shampoo frothy as she wound her fingers through long brown hair.

Moving to stand, Natasha froze when a hand wrapped around her wrist. It was warm, and strong, and pulled ever so slightly.

"You don't remember," she said, eyes trained on the gym door. Behind her she felt movement, a presence similarly hunched over behind her.

"I don't need to," he said, and his lips were right next to her ear, his chest to her back, his hand releasing her wrist and moving up so that their palms touched. It was his human arm.

Natasha felt his metal arm hovering around her stomach, waiting. In the time it took her to entwine her fingers to his, she made her choice. A choice to ignore what had just happen or at least postpone the conversation until they were both ready. Besides, it was something Steve would want to hear.

For now, they were both shaken and tired but burned through the potential of what they had had and might yet have.

Their lips met as her body turned, coiling against him as his metal arm wrapped around her waist and pressed her close. With one hand she pushed him back onto the mat and let herself rest on top of him. Their kisses deepened until at last their hands broke apart. She explored every contour of his face and chest, as he pulled her close and let his calloused fingers wander up her back, tracing under her shirt to the scars on her stomach. When his hand found the bullet scar in her abdomen, both of them paused.

"You did what you were ordered to," Natasha said firmly, drawing the hand away and back into hers.

"I hurt you."

"Even when we were allies we hurt each other," she said, wondering briefly how much he remembered from their enemy days, those hidden moments between each mission, each mind-wipe that reduced passion and trust to so much melted snow. She knew he remembered her, but she had never asked in what capacity.

"Come on, we can't do this here." He let her extract herself a second time, and together they slipped out of the gym and into the elevator. None of the other Avengers were home, so they had complete privacy going through the lounge and hallway to the bedrooms.

Before she closed the door, Natasha made sure that her bugs on the surveillance system still worked. As far as anyone was concerned, her room was a constant blackout, and Tony hadn't fought her on it yet.

"Natasha?" Bucky said, fingers brushing the back of her neck hesitantly. She could tell he was uncomfortable, but still everything so far had come naturally to him. Some things even Hydra couldn't erase. Somewhere, deep down, Bucky remembered being with her, the rhythms of their bodies as one. At least, she hoped it was her he remembered.

Natasha shot one last look at the empty hall before turning to Bucky and closing the door.

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"Rise and shine sleeping beauties!" Tony’s voice filtered from the walls, breaking Natasha's catnap rudely. Her head lifted to look at the glowing blue audio strip on the wall, eyes narrowing.

"What do you want, Stark?" she asked, not ignorant of the fact that he had said "beauties."

"I know how little sleep you get, Romanoff, but the Captain is about to have a panic attack if you don't bring Frosty where we can see him," Tony said, and Natasha flicked back the hair from her face. Reluctantly she pulled back the sheets, sliding away from Bucky and heading to the dresser.

"Natalia?" he murmured, but when she glanced back at the bed he was still asleep, messy covers showing his bare chest and workout pants from the other night.

Smiling softly, Natasha pulled off her workout cloths and quickly changed into a pair of yoga pants and a dark tank top, pulling over it one of the colorful Indian shrugs Bruce had given her. She was painfully aware that she needed a shower. Then she padded back to the bed and leaned over his side.

" _James_ ," she sang, running her fingers across his cheeks. His eyes snapped open, filled momentarily with confusion and anger- then they focused on her, and relief colored through him.

"Natasha."

"Steve is here- he got worried when he couldn't find you. My room is a dead zone," she said, drawing back to give him room. He sat up straight, feet connecting with the hardwood floor. Guilt clouded Bucky’s face as he started to rise. Wordlessly Natasha leaned back, sitting on the edge of the bed and tucking one foot under as she watched Bucky run a hand through his short hair. In the morning light filtering through her now only partially-tinted windows the metal of his arm glinted, newly painted white, red, and blue star shining.

"That's typical Red Room," Bucky said, sardonic smile curling into his face. "I remember that. A bit of it. Never sleep unless you're the only one who can find you."

"Old habits die hard."

"Steve won't be happy."

"Why would he care?"

"I don't know," Bucky shook his head. "I guess I just..."

"I know."

For a moment they let the silence settle, a peaceful shroud over him standing and her sitting, in which they were together and infinitely apart. Two forces of nature peacefully coexisting in the flesh of domestic companions.

Tony, of course, was the one to shatter the illusion.

"I'd let Frostbite come up first if I were you, Romanoff. Before Cap breaks your door down."

Bucky got up without a word, took the perfectly sized shirt Natasha handed him without a word- there would be no questions about it later, they both knew- and left.

Sighing, Natasha crawled onto the bed and curled around the scent of him on the pillow. Then she closed her eyes and began to count.

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683

684

685

686

6-

That was it. She'd given them more than ten minutes, and had been neither summoned nor heard the herald sounds on an argument, which surely would have radiated down from the upper floors. She pulled herself away from the bed, now devoid of any last shreds of body heat, pulled back her hair in a dark tie, and headed barefoot out the door.

It took her to the count of 65 to exit the elevator into the lounge, where all of the other Avengers except Sam were crowded around the breakfast bar.

Tony had his classic health lunch, green shake and tofu bacon with eggs, and at his side Clint was munching on a bowl of cereal while Thor devoured pop tarts and bacon. Steve was leaning against the counter with a glass of orange juice, staring across the room to where Bucky sat in one of the window chairs staring blankly out at the New York skyline with a super-soldier sized breakfast sitting on the coffee table beside him.

"Nice of you to show up," Steve said, and didn't even wait for her to start talking before he launched into a tirade that was probably following a very terse apology from Bucky. "I'm not stupid, Natasha.” Natasha couldn't tell if he was angry. He didn't look it, and he had no right to be, but-

"So he says _after_ we search the entire tower twice and have JARVIS run a search for bio signs. Of course, then we stumbled on the complete dead zone of Miss Romanoff's here and old Cap put two and two together," Tony smirked. "We've decided to call you and Bucky 'Cold War,' what do you think? Sorry about blowing everything, by the way- I thought Steve was gonna cry."

"Well, James is fine," Natasha said, ignoring the “Cold War” comment as she made her way to the coffee machine. “I’m sorry for the scare.”

"I am confused as to the subject at hand," Thor frowned. "Why is there a war brewing between Steven, Natasha, and James? There is more tension in this room than a pack of mating Bilgesnipes."

"Because Barnes couldn't keep it in his pants," Clint said.

Thor looked even more confused.

"They were engaged in training yesterday, yes?"

"Yes," Bucky said, and Natasha mentally thanked him for saying nothing about the pants comment.

"And to my knowledge they are not promised to another?"

"Of course not," Natasha said at the same time Bucky said "I don't think so."

"Then I do not understand the cause for conflict, unless Steven has affections for Natasha?"

All three said " _No_!" With varying degrees of intensity, and Thor nodded as if they confirmed his suspicions.

"Is it not the custom here to bed after battle? Among such a shield-sister and brother I would not think such behavior uncommon, especially after their sparring," Thor frowned.

"There was no 'bedding' involved, Thor," Natasha said wryly. "We slept next to each other after a rough day, that's all, but thanks for sticking up for our right to sex."

Thor nodded severely, looking concerned.

"Wait, you super freaks were in the gym all day yesterday?" Tony exclaimed through a mouth of tofu bacon. Natasha reached across the table to snag his green health shake, transporting it to her side before Tony's flailing could recapture it.

"When one's chemical and genetic makeup is augmented four times beyond a normal person’s, it's pretty hard to break a sweat, let alone work to exhaustion," Natasha said.

"Evidently you guys weren't too tired," Clint grinned at the end of the table and nudged Bucky, who looked torn.

"I told you, we took a nap! Like a pair of toddlers, sweaty cloths and everything," Natasha said, taking a sip of Tony's shake. “I am sorry for snatching him off the radar, Steve- it wasn’t my intention to give you a heart attack.”

"That aside," Steve said, looking relieved and blushing furiously. "Bucky said that something happened- a relapse, and that you know why."

Of course he told Steve. Even seventy years of mind wipes later Bucky had learned his lesson- tell Steve. It was the least he could do, after keeping Zola's experiments a secret.

"I accidentally used one of his trigger words," Natasha said as she put the smoothie down, stomach flat. "He reverted back to the Winter Soldier, and I took care of it."

"Let me guess- she hit you really hard and called it ‘cognitive recalibration’," Clint snorted.

"I think that's the term she used when she explained it to me."

"Wait a minute," Tony said. "Trigger word, as in hypnotism?"

"As in brainwashing. It's a tactic used by many agencies to keep control over those working for them. There are words that trigger sleep, uncontrollable rage, words that set them back to factory settings if they're ever compromised," Natasha said clinically. "While I worked for the Red a Room, my reset work was 'Pirouette.'"

Tony chuckled, but Clint's face was carved from stone, and suddenly imagining Natasha in a tutu wasn't so funny.

"What was Bucky's?" Steve asked.

"'Bear,'" Natasha said. “In Russian. I said it accidentally, but at least we know now."

"How many more do I have?" Bucky asked suddenly, looking like he was slowly being stabbed. "How many more words?"

Natasha shrugged. "I don't know. I only had the basic three- no, Tony, they don't work anymore- but Hydra probably had multiple checks on you. Most likely German or Russian."

They spent the day combing through Hydra’s files for all of his trigger words- he had seven- and afterward he burned off steam by joining Clint in the shooting range. Tony would need several new targets by the end of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this crappy story but I still hope you’re reading. I would love love love reviews, requests, suggestions. Thoughts on Steve in this chapter? I’m afraid he might have been a little OOC :/


	8. Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another very spotty chap, but I hope you enjoy. There IS some actual plot coming along but I’m having trouble formatting it into a comprehensible timeline, so give me 2-3 weeks for the next few updates. :/  
> In the meantime, though, enjoy some bittersweetness!

Bucky was horrified by Clint’s choice of music, but something told him that the mere existence of his own opinion was better than the numbness the Winter Soldier would have experienced when subjected to “Work, Bitch” by Brittney Spears.

“Come on, there’s nothing better for righteous anger than Brittney Spears,” Clint insisted as he snapped open his bow, grinning sloppily as Bucky assembled his pistol and the range prepared itself for a superhero workout. “Just imagine her face on every target.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Bucky said tightly, as the music reached a techno-crescendo that made him want to break the stereo system. “But I think I get the idea.”

So Brittney jammed out in the background while Clint and Bucky augmented their listening experience with gunfire and the thunk of arrows embedding themselves in targets. After a while, though, Bucky put his foot down, and the range when silent while he put in his headphones and blared some of the senseless classic rock Tony had downloaded for him. They practiced in silence, going through clip after clip and completely decimating the course, but rather than calming him down it just wound Bucky tighter and tighter. He though after what happened earlier- _youhurtNataliahowcouldyou_ \- some senseless shooting would help, keep him in shape and let him concentrate on something other than his astounding ability to hurt those he loved, but every bullet that blew through the bullseye in a target’s head or chest only increased the tension in his chest. Clint offered to teach him how to use a bow, but after the third arrow tore through the thick target and smashed through concrete, Clint gingerly took the tool back and made a half-hearted joke about super-soldier strength.

Things completely exploded when they started using knives. The familiar weight of the blade in his flesh and blood hand sent shivers crawling up his spine, and for a moment Bucky expected to feel long hair brush against his cheeks and smell the stale air inside his mask, perhaps see fire in the corners of his eyes. On autopilot he threw them, aim still perfect, exact, there were some skills Hydra had given him that he would never unlearn no matter how long he spent curled up on a couch or listening to aggressively cheerful music or pretending not to notice Tony’s multiple “Winter is coming” jokes every time he entered a room. Sam had introduced him to _Game of Thrones_ , Tony just didn’t know it yet.

Clint had been quiet for almost an hour as they trained, each marksman lost in their own world- or so Bucky thought- but when he finally came back into himself he realized two things- one, he had been going at the same target with every knife, and had killed the man several times over, and two, Clint had stopped firing. The archer sat watching him with wide eyes, jaw clenched, a look of absolute familiarity on his features.

“I think he’s dead,” Clint said, gesturing to the pincushion Bucky made of the target. A bitter laugh escaped Bucky’s throat, and he ran a hand through his newly short hair- was this really how he’d worn it?

Still, the companionable silence between them was broken as soon as Clint spoke, and the weight of things returned. Bucky strode forward and angrily yanked a knife out of the target’s heart.

“I know what it’s like,” Clint murmured, and Bucky froze. “To be un-made. Not for seventy years, but… I still get it.”

“Loki,” Bucky said, remembering the battle of New York through the Winter Soldier’s eyes, the briefing Hydra gave him on what was happening when they woke him- told him he might be needed, since several of their agents and S.H.I.E.L.D.’s had been “compromised.” He was put on ice after twenty-four hours sitting motionless in a dark room.

“I killed twelve agents on his orders, and I was awake the entire time. I knew their faces, even if I’d never spoken to him,” Clint said. Bucky let the knife fall limply in his hand. Whose was the greater curse? To be aware of the killing, or to have it wiped away forever but still know you’re guilty of something? Thinking like that hurt his head.

“I know we don’t have that whole tragic-past thing going on, but I figured you could use some talking after murdering the target. If you want. I mean, I know you have Sam for that, Mr. Therapy and all-”

“No one else understands,” Bucky said, and tore out another knife, this one from the gut. “Natalia, but…”

“But Nat can get pretty complicated,” Clint laughed softly.

Another knife. Another. Setting them gently on the table nearby.

“Does it get easier?”

Clint sighed.

“No. Yes. You never forget, but you can’t stop living, either.”

They didn’t use knives again, and this time Bucky broke neither the target nor the arrow when Clint gave him a bow.

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He was just a _spectator_. Dammit, he hadn’t been in control of himself; every time he was woken it hadn’t even been like he was watching himself, it was like he hadn’t been there. Bucky Barnes had been chained so deeply that the Winter Soldier couldn’t feel him and looking back on recovered memories was so disorienting it made him sick because it wasn’t _him_ and yet, of course it was.

How could it not have been?

Nat and Steve were gone- they’d been summoned to another national security hearing, the first one in weeks and they hadn’t told him anything before leaving, just for him not to worry. They looked worried, but they said no one knew about him, the Winter Soldier was still a ghost because Hydra would never put his name in digital files.

Which one was his name?

James. _James._

Bucky.

That was _his_ name.

His _name_.

“Hey, man, you’re ok,” a voice floated to him along with the reassuring weight of hands on his back, his shoulders, not restraining but comforting.

Nat and Steve weren’t there.

Who was this?

“You’re fine. 2014, remember? S.H.I.E.L.D., the Avengers, Steve, Thor, Nat, new arm. Recovery.”

Bucky drew in a shaking breath that made his lungs feel like they were filling with ice water, biting and cold and constricting. Beneath him he could feel cold and hard, pressed against his cheek and jamming his hip. There was bright light but he still opened his eyes.

“Bucky? You with me?”

He swallowed thickly, nodded, dragging his skin across the tile.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “What happened?”

Sam’s hands dug into his shoulders, pulling him up and Bucky helped as much as his stiff limbs would let him. When he was leaning up against one of the counters he realized they were in the kitchen on Thor’s floor, judging by the poptart boxes lining the counters and the blueprints taped to the fridge.

“You had a moment,” Sam said softly, face grave, eyes probing Bucky gently for information. “I don’t know what triggered it, but one second you were complaining about Brittney Spears, the next you were screaming on the floor. Thor thought you’d been poisoned.”

As if summoned by the use of his name, Thor was suddenly hovering above both of them, dressed in his civvies and looking just as concerned as Sam.

“Sam explained to me the Midgardian concept of PTSD while you were resting- it sounds truly terrible, but I am thankful you are not physically injured,” he rumbled, and Bucky nodded.

“How long did I lose?”

“About three minutes,” Sam said. “Do you know what happened? Did you remember something?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Bucky said shakily as he pushed up and tried to stand. Instantly the floor started to spin but his metal arm shot out, gripping the counter so hard the wood splintered. Sam was on his other side, gripping his arm to steady him. “I don’t remember.”

“Well, you’re fine now,” Sam said. “Hey, you know I’m here if you ever want to talk about this kind of stuff. I may not have much experience with superhumans, but vets, I do.”

“I know,” Bucky murmured, squeezing his eyes shut. “I may just take you up on that one day, but it isn’t pretty.”

“When I signed on with Steve I never thought it was going to be,” Sam said.

“Are you well now, friend?” Thor asked, brow furrowed in concern.

“Not really,” Bucky said. “Can we just… not talk about?”

“I believe the Midgardian program Darcy is fond of will be on soon,” Thor said. “It is called _Elementary_.”

“I love that show!” Sam exclaimed, grinning. “Come on, let’s continue 21st Century lessons, Serge.”

Bucky loved the idea of a female Watson, and although he didn’t say it out loud he briefly wished that drugs would work on him the way they did for Holmes. Maybe then all of this could end, and he wouldn’t end up on the floor every time something triggered him. Clint said it got better, but as he clenched his metal hand and tried not to rip the stuffing out of the couch, worried about Steve and Nat and what would happen when the world found out the truth, his faith in the archer’s words waned.

When the show was over he booked it back to his room, and didn’t reappear for lunch, or dinner, even though his watch screamed at him and he thought he actually felt the physical pangs of hunger deep in his stomach. Steve came in and sat with him for a while with food, and they talked, and didn’t talk.

He didn’t laugh or poke fun when Bucky asked him to stay, and when they curled up in the bed he had a brief, mental flash of a much smaller man with sunken cheeks but the same blue eyes, and threadbare blankets. It was cold and Steve was sick but the couch cushions made a bed for two. Steve’s breath was warm on his neck when they fell asleep.

Maybe there were some good memories, too.

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The first time any of them heard him laugh was in the wave of a few days of devastating PTSD moments and more than one incident of Bucky hiding away in his room completely, so when it finally happened Steve looked like he'd found a unicorn. It had been at one of Tony's stupid jokes and he'd been encouraged by Bucky's small smiles- they had been appearing more frequently but they still didn't reach his eyes- so he'd kept going even though Natasha informed him that his humor was dry and lacking any quality.  
      So when Tony finished the joke and Bucky _burst_ out laughing, everyone was dumbstruck. His smile was so wide his face must have ached but _oh_ it reached his eyes and they were filled with mirth as his laugh filled the room, something magical and bright. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he doubled over, arms wrapped around his stomach.  
     "I don't get it," Tony said while Bucky wheezed in an attempt to control himself. "Even I know that joke is lame."  
     "I... Know... Stark," Bucky gritted out past short, gasping laughter. He was still smiling but slowly regaining control of his facial features. He clamped one hand down on the island to make sure he wouldn't upset his chair.  
      "How long has it been since I laughed?" Bucky asked, grinning. "Seventy... What, seventy two years?   Not since we got on the zip line for that damn mission that killed me."  
     All of a sudden Steve threw his arms around Bucky, surprising him so much that he tipped back in his chair. Steve's arms kept him up as it fell, both super soldiers locked in an embrace that was suddenly desperate on Steve's part, endlessly bittersweet on Bucky's.  
     "I missed you so much," Steve murmured.  
      "I missed you too," Bucky said. When they broke away he was still smiling, and for the rest of the day he smiled whenever it occurred to him to. Natasha took it all in silently, the way his face lit up when he made an expression of joy. She had never seen him look so happy, when they were together- never heard him laugh or seen him smile except in threat.  
      That night she curled up in her bed and heard his laugh again, caught it and held it close to her heart. She didn't think she'd ever heard a more beautiful sound, and judging by everyone else's faces, neither had they.  
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After that Bucky was a regular ray of sunshine, and seemed surprised every time he smiled or laughed or showed any positive emotion. After having been denied the expression of happiness for years, it was if he was drunk on it. Natasha made an effort to bring out that delightful laugh whenever she could- she must have made the fossil crack about a hundred times and he still found it mildly funny- and everyone else seemed to pick up on their buoyed spirits.  
       That was also the period of time when they discovered Bucky's extensive range of facial expressions. After months of swinging from "hurt/confused" to "brooding" to "murderous rage" and back again, seeing him stick out his tongue or scrunch his nose were absolute gifts. Darcy, during one of her visits to Jane, insisted that she and Natasha do a photo shoot and document every expression he could make. This brought back "brooding" for a short time before Sam volunteered to do it with him and suddenly it was a therapy session with the two veterans trying to out-weird the other. Natasha's favorite was when Sam make what he called his "Falcon Face," and perched on top of the refrigerator like a bird, and Bucky did him one better by going absolute Winter Soldier while wearing a “Kiss the Chef” apron and holding a spatula in his metal arm (Darcy’s idea). When Natasha kissed him right then and there Sam and Darcy wolf-whistled, and all Bucky could do was smile against her lips. It felt good.   
       Hours later Darcy and Natasha had made a digital collage of every photo and projected it onto the living room wall for Bucky- who was finally coming down from his happy trip and nursing a cup of cocoa, which ever since Pepper had introduced him to it had been his favorite beverage- and Sam.  
     "We’ll call it 'Summer Soldier and Bird Brain,'" Darcy said proudly, and Natasha smiled at her. This was the first time she'd ever really spoken to the young intern outside of their one shopping excursion, but she found that Darcy was actually very quick and clever, and had done well getting the two soldiers to pose for the camera. When Darcy had admitted that even with all the superhero crazy in her life she still wanted to be a political journalist, Natasha said that they could use some pull in the White House and encouraged her to start taking classes again.  
      That was when Steve and Clint walked in, and stopped to stare at the montage of the ridiculous on the wall.  
     "It's Bucky's wall of happy," Natasha explained, and for emphasis Darcy projected title text in Jokerman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the filler chapter, but I hope it was still sorta fun to read.


	9. Imari

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’M BAAACCKKK.   
> But not for long, unfortunately. With college applications and school, all of my fanfictions will be going on indefinite haitus and if they do update, it will be weeks apart. I’m not abandoning any of them, but from here on out updating could be anywhere from two days in a row to two months between chapters, random, with no warning. The stories WILL CONTINUE, but there will be neither rhyme nor reason to my updates, and for that I apologize. I’m afraid life frowns upon fanfiction, or at least mine does. BUT I plan to have them completed before I graduate, if luck holds out, and there WILL be Christmas presents :) And Thanksgivings ones… basically American school holidays=fanfiction!   
> With that in mind, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and feel safe in the knowledge that most of the rest of this fic is either written or plotted out with a fair amount of precision, so no worries about me dropping off the map and never ever finishing it and leaving it on a cliffhanger forever. I hate it when that happens.   
> Also, this chapter is introducing an original character of mine and I’d love your thoughts below on how I handle it, what you think of her, etc. Because I know that’s always a testy subject in a fandom with characters as loved at the Avengers- OCs are often not well planned or not treated well, so your feedback on her will be greatly appreciated!

_This chapter is dedicated to the real Imari, who loves the earth and journalism._

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“Tony-”

“I already said no, Pepper,” Tony exclaimed, clearly trying to run away from the stone-faced CEO trailing him with her tablet up stairs and through a living room packed with Avengers watching Project Runway. “We are not letting some media rat-”

“ _The Bugle_ is crucifying the Avengers and after that stunt you pulled-”

“What, publicly endorsing my own team, _defending_ Captain America?”

“No, telling Jameson to fuck himself on national television!”

“Hey, Stewart thought it was hilarious.”

“Talk show hosts are allowed to find that kind of thing hilarious, but Iron Man can’t publicly humiliate one of the leading newspapers in the city _even_ _if_ said newspaper is accusing Captain America of being Hydra-”

“Who’s accusing me of being Hydra?” Steve asked, finally paying attention to the domestic trouble happening in the kitchen next to them. By now everyone was paying attention, so Sam paused the TV- much to Thor’s displeasure- and suddenly all eyes were on Tony and Pepper.

“This is why I wanted to do this somewhere else,” Tony exclaimed, waving his arms and leveling a glare at his teammates. Pepper rested a hand on his arm.

“What’s going on, Lady Pepper?” Thor rumbled.

“We’ve been… trying to minimize the damage of the fallout a few months ago,” Pepper began, and suddenly Natasha looked mildly guilty. “With Steve and Natasha publicly trying to rebuild confidence in your public images and avoid imprisonment, I’ve had the whole Stark Industries PR team on damage control. Even with New York, the public isn’t very happy with all the damage superheroes seem to be tangled up in, and _The Daily Bugle_ is currently leading the pack. A few days ago Tony was on _The_ _Daily Show_ and-”

“Fellow guest J. Jonah Jameson decided to insinuate that Captain America was a Hydra agent working with the Winter Soldier,” Tony bit out. Steve’s face darkened.

“Is this the same guy that tried to tell people that I was a robot or a clone after I showed up at the battle of New York?” Steve asked, and Pepper nodded. “What’s he done now?”

“Well, as I was _trying_ to explain to Tony, the Avengers could use some positive press right now, and with everyone holed up in the tower helping with Bucky no one’s seen much of you in months,” Pepper explained. “There’s a journalist from _The Daily Globe_ who wants to interview all of you for a piece-”

“To which I said ‘No,’ because we don’t need a reporter snooping around the tower, especially not with Sergeant Winter lurking about,” Tony said, crossing his arms.

“He’s not lurking anymore,” Sam said defensively, remote waving as he gestured. “He’s doing a lot better, all things considered, and I’ve seen some rough cases in my time.”

“Regardless, the last thing we need-”

“Actually, that might be the first thing we need,” Natasha said, and Tony’s brows rose in shock.

“I’m sorry, _what_?”

“Pepper’s right- Steve and I haven’t given any statements except the ones we have to, and as far as the public knows the rest of us have fallen off the face of the earth. A story about us could be exactly what helps us fight people like Jameson.”

“So I’ll tell her to come over tomorrow,” Pepper said triumphantly, keying something into her tablet. “Steve, can you keep Bucky on the living floor until she’s gone?”

“Of course,” Steve said, unspoken tension fueling the air between them. Bucky was currently down in the gym, but all of them knew how important it was to keep him hiddent. His early runs were kept out of sight, and he’d only been allowing shopping with Pepper because they’d made sure he looked nothing like the Winter Soldier- arm covered, heavy coat, sunglasses, not to mention the posture was completely wrong for a confident ‘40s soldier or a deadly assassin- and so far no one had gotten wind of him. All of the Hydra files on him had been classified by the government as soon as they leaked, and none of them mentioned the name “James Barnes,” or extensive information- just the basics of his training and his missions. Everything else had probably been kept as hard copies destroyed or lost. As far as anyone knew, the Winter Soldier was on the run, Hydra was gone, and James Barnes was dead.

“Hey, man, I’ll do it,” Sam said, knocking him on the shoulder from across the couch and Thor’s massive body. “You need to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for an interview.”

Steve groaned.

“Can we start the television, now?” Thor asked.

Natasha laughed.

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“H-hello,” the journalist said, shaking Steve’s hand while obviously trying to reign in her awe. Natasha gave her credit for looking so composed in the first place, and by the time she shook the young woman’s hand, she was strictly professional, although her eyes were still glowing with the wonder of meeting the Avengers.

“Ah, my name is Imari. Imari Masters, and I work for _The Daily Globe_ , so-”

“You want interviews, a tour, probably a spin in the suit- sorry no kids allowed- to try lifting Thor’s hammer and using Hawkeye’s bow?” Tony said with arms crossed. Given his track record with the press, it went without saying that he wasn’t in any way fond of them these days, and he’d spent the entire morning moaning and complaining about having to let one into the tower, of all places.

“Um… I’m here on a job, not some cosplay adventure,” Imari said. “I’m sorry if you were expecting a blonde bombshell or a screaming prepubescent intern, Mr. Stark.”

She was the exact opposite of a “blonde bombshell,” with her dark skin and voluminous curly hair and almond-shaped green eyes, but it made her no less attractive. Beneath her smart deep green business suit she was graciously curvy, and her heels added three inches to her already formidable height- no doubt part of the reason Tony was so annoyed. Imari was at least five inches taller than him, and aside from understandable excitement at standing before the World’s Greatest Heroes she had been nothing if not professional since the moment she stepped out of her cab in front of the Tower.

“I like her,” Natasha said simply, which was all it took to solidify the miffed look on Tony’s face.

“As I was saying, my editor Mr. Bushkin is very interested in being the first paper to write an in-depth article on who you really are as people, not just caped wonders and-”

“Correction, Thor is the only one of us who wears a cape,” Tony said. Imari continued as if he hadn’t said a word.

“Steve Rogers rather than Captain America, Tony Stark and not Iron Man, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Thor... well, I supposed there isn’t really much normal about him,” Imari half-smiled, obviously out of her comfort zone in the middle of the costumed crusaders. “If that’s alright, that is… with no more S.H.I.E.L.D. and the government pulling Captain Rogers and Miss Romanoff up to Capitol Hill every chance they get, it seems like you guys could use all the positive press you can get. Plus, the _Globe_ ’s rival, _The Daily Bugle_ , is earning quite a lot by dragging you guys through the dirt…”

“I hear that Bushkin can be a bit of a bitch sometimes, as in Jameson-level,” Clint commented, raising his eyebrows at his fellow Avengers.

“I’d hate to send her back empty-handed to face his wrath,” Tony continued, warming reluctantly. He could appreciate class, even if that hadn’t exactly been the best word to describe him up until a few years ago.

“Or we could just give her the story because it’s the right thing to do and not because we think she’s a child who can’t handle her editor,” Bruce said, wiping his glasses and not looking at anyone, so he missed Imari’s grateful look. Truth be told, all of them had been surprised when he actually showed up to meet her in the lobby with the other Avengers, but he’d emerged from his lab on time and shaken her hand along with everyone else.

“I’ll go first,” Tony said, raising his hand like an eager child. “Follow me, miss- wanna know my secret identity?”

Imari grabbed a voice recorder out of her purse and clicked it on eagerly.

“I’m afraid that’s a few years too late, Mr. Stark, but I’ll settle for some commentary on how you fit six superheroes in one tower.”

“Seven,” Tony corrected as he led the way to the elevator. “You’ll meet Sam later.”

“Sam Wilson, you mean The Falcon?” Imari exclaimed, and Steve beamed at her.

“He has a name?”

“Wow, you guys really don’t read all the stuff people print,” Imari frowned. “He got the nickname as soon as people positively ID’d him during the Triskellion incident- courtesy of one of the _Globe_ ’s staff writers.”

“He’s gonna love that.”

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After Tony, Imari asked if she could talk to Bruce, since they were already down in the labs and he was the closest by, so Tony had escorted her to his “Palace of Science” as Tony called it, and strolled right in like he owned the place. Which, he did, but Imari was still surprised by the ease with which Tony acted around Bruce. It wasn’t as though people were skittish, but the Iron Man was notoriously self-destructive and the people closest to him tended to get caught in the fallout, so being so at ease around a walking time bomb didn’t strike her as the smartest thing for a genius like Tony to do.

Still, she took his lead and followed him in, finding herself in a place that was the polar opposite of Tony’s workshop. Everything was neat and organized, there were microscopes and beakers and scientific instruments instead of wrenches and glitchy robots, and in one corner there was even a partitioned area with a yoga mat and unlit candles. In the middle of it all was Bruce, calmly reading with his feet propped up on another chair.

“Ms. Masters, Doctor Banner,” Tony waved grandly, and the other man looked up, eyebrows rising. Imari smiled reassuringly at him and Bruce put down his book, folding a piece of paper between the pages to hold his spot.

“Hey there,” he said. Tony frowned good-naturedly.

“That’s right, don’t overwhelm yourself with excitement,” he said.

“Sorry,” Bruce said, ignoring Tony and looking straight at Imari. “I’m still not used to… people.”

“That’s fine,” she said as she pulled up a chair and clicked on her recorder again. “I’m not here to talk about sensitive subjects if you don’t want me to. I’m after Bruce Banner, not the other guy.”

“Well, I’ll just leave you to it,” Tony said, backing out. “Have JARVIS come get me when you’re done- I think there are a couple of master assassins lurking somewhere waiting to spill all their secrets.”

He whistled a quick, jilting tune and sauntered out the door. Bruce sighed, but when Imari glanced back at him he was smiling broadly.

“He sure is something,” Imari prodded.

“That’s one way to put it,” Bruce chuckled. “But he’s a good person. All this”- he gestured to the lab- “was him, you know. Call it a bribe for me not to fall off the face of the earth after New York.”

“So that’s when this really started?” Imari asked, jumping on the tidbit that could lead into the story. “New York?”

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah… The Other Guy isn’t the hero type, you know? I was set to flee the county when Tony practically dragged me back here, talking a mile a minute about how great it was going to be to have another genius in the tower.”

“And how’s that been working out?” Imari grinned.

“Um…. Interesting.”

“I’m guessing that’s only one way to put it?”

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Imari spent more time with Bruce than she should have, realistically, but once she got the crux of the piece about him the conversation rapidly devolved into discussing their favorite scientific theories and journals, the recorder still going all the while. Inevitably it came up that she had studied environmental sciences in college and actually based her senior thesis on one of his scientific papers a few years ago, before the incident, and she thought his newest study into gamma radiation was fascinating, if a bit above her at times.

For his part, Imari hoped that Bruce was enjoying himself- he was certainly more at ease than he had been originally, and she’d be lying if she said that listening to him talk wasn’t one of the most interesting things she’d ever done. The world really did know very little about the man behind the monster, other than his pioneering work with gamma radiation that let to the incident. What Imari was discovering was that he was not just peaceful by necessity, but by belief, and when he was in hiding he wasn’t just laying low- he was _helping_ people. As a medical doctor as well, he’d spent a significant portion of his years hiding from the military doing relief work in third-world countries, and spent a lot of time in India. She could have asked him questions for hours, longing to probe deeper into the thoughtful and even humorous mind of the man who was, on occasion, a giant green rage monster, but eventually she glanced up at the clock and realized that she was past time to interview the others- she still had four to go.

“It was a pleasure, Doctor Banner,” she said as she stood and shook his hand. “Really, thank you very much for agreeing to do this.”

“No problem,” he said, lips pressing together at the last. “I, ah… it was nice to meet you.”

She beamed at him before leaving, and hoped she had made a positive impression as the lab door closed behind her. Professional though she was, there was still part of her that was dying at meeting the Avengers, and wanted so very desperately to have their approval.

That dream faded into obscurity the moment she entered the basement/workout room and saw just what Hawkeye and Black Widow had been doing to pass the time before their interviews. While her mind whirled with the possibilities of how to introduce them into the piece- a description of the amazing, superhuman workout space wouldn’t hurt, followed by all of the wicked routines they were going through as though they could do them in their sleep- she tried not to let her mouth drop.

Clint was over by a shooting range, compound bow in hands, shooting off arrows so quickly that Imari could scarcely keep track of them. In the span of a few heartbeats the twelve dummies down the course were slaughtered with five different lethal blows- each- and the archer had already swung himself up onto a series of crossbeams halfway up the tall ceiling, taking on a floating obstacle course with only trick arrows and sweats. It was absolutely thrilling.

Then her gaze shifted, looking for her other charge, and her heart stopped cold. There was footage of all of them fighting in New York, and the Black Widow was a conspiracy theory among history majors who focused on espionage or Russian studies, but the recent home front crises had made her headline news and S.H.I.E.L.D. was no longer around to protect her after she dumped her information for the world to see. Imari could believe the rumors that said she was superhuman, had been trained by a secret Russian program, could kill a man six different ways with a paperclip, when she watched the red-haired agent fight.

Natasha was going head-to-head with Thor, who despite his massive strength was tripped up by Natasha’s smaller size and incredible speed. Every blow was efficient and potentially deadly, each move almost graceful in a savage way that caused shivers to roll up her spine. It took her almost half a minute of watching, stunned, to realize that neither was actually exerting any effort over the activity. They were pulling their punches, and Natasha’s legs never tightened fully when she got Thor in a choke hold by the thighs, nor did the thunder god use the fullness of his strength if he managed to clamp onto her arm or leg. They were piratically playing, considering the true lethal ability that each possessed.

“Our turn?” There was a blur in front of her, so fast a few stray strands of her hair buffeted against her face, and she stumbled back a step before a calloused hand caught her upper arm. Clint’s earnest eyes were looking at her with concern as she regained her balance. Never again would she wear heels on a story that involved fitness maniacs.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Clint said, but there was a curl of amusement to his smile. The front of his shirt was soaked with sweat, the compound bow still in one of his hands, but the obstacle course above her was already re-setting itself so she assumed he had completed it and- _jumped_.

She swallowed.

“You’re fine,” she said, brushing herself off more for the reassuring movement than anything. Over to the side Thor and Natasha stopped their fight and were heading towards her, in black workout clothes with the Avengers logo on the shorts and sleeves. “But yes, it is your turn. Or Ms. Romanoff’s- either is fine. I was hoping to get to you last, Thor?”

“That is acceptable,” the god rumbled, and Imari had to mentally remind herself that he had a girlfriend, she had a boyfriend, and that admiring someone’s body was different from outright ogling- which was frowned upon by society and her good standards. So she did her best to stop herself from doing it despite the sweat-soaked t-shirt that showed every inch of his Asgardian physique.

As Thor bade them farewell- she could find him in the observatory when she needed to- Imari turned back to Clint and Natasha. To find that Natasha was standing directly in front of her, Clint standing slightly behind the shorter woman with his chin resting on her shoulder, eyes conveying polite interest.

Natasha’s face was carved from stone.

“We go together, or not at all,” she said, arms crossed. Stunned by the assassin’s suddenly chilly aura, Imari nodded and tried not to break her recorder by squeezing too hard- she understood now why Natasha had been such an effective agent. She was absolutely terrifying when she wanted to be.

“Be nice, Nat,” Clint chided, eyes half-closed as if preparing for a nap after his hard workout. Natasha’s head jerked irritably, but her shoulders visibly relaxed.

“I was just teasing,” she said, blinking steadily at Imari. The journalist tried not to show her realization that the assassin was right, and that for a moment she had actually feared she had done something to offend the other woman. Now, Natasha was fully relaxed, rolling back onto the balls of her feet, one hip cocked out as she looked at Imari, no hint of the icy killer from before.

“It’s a thing she does,” Clint said. “When she’s not killing people.”

And that pretty much summed up the mood of their interview.

They were great people.

When they weren’t killing people.

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In reality it was more complicated than that, and it wasn’t like their pasts were hidden anymore so Imari could have asked anything she wanted and not been met with a “it’s classified,” but the tone of her piece was clear; not superheroes, _people_.

So she asked about people stuff, normal people stuff. And was pleasantly surprised by the responses she got.

“Coffee runs in his veins,” Natasha said with a small smile after a question about their morning routines and the chaos that was the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes getting breakfast- Kellogs would be excited to learn how much the resident alien enjoyed their toaster waffles. Clint scowled.

“How else am I supposed to fight crime at all hours of the day? When Tony wakes you up for a 5 a.m. mission to Peru, tell me you don’t need coffee.”

“I don’t even think I had breakfast before that one,” Natasha said thoughtfully, and Imari looked between the two of them. Clint blinked and glanced at her.

“100% truth here, Masters. Fighting with superhumans when you aren’t one can really suck sometimes,” he said.

“Why do it then?” Imari asked. “I mean, S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, both of you could have gone anywhere- done anything- and instead you choose to move in with Tony Stark. What’s the reasoning? And what’s life like, being the only two spies in a group of soldiers?”

“Don’t let Tony hear you say the s word,” Natasha said. “He’s not too fond of it. I’m not either, actually- soldier implies that we answer to people, and that our mission statement is violence. We’re… guardians, not soldiers.”

“Nice, very pacifistic,” Clint said sagely, and Imari couldn’t help but quirk a smile. The years the two spent with each other showed clearly, and she knew intuitively that she would probably never see this kind of ease again- the kind of familiarity they only had with each other, and maybe the others living in the tower. To be an outsider witnessing the human heart of these people was itself privilege enough. To be able to ask them questions nearly overwhelmed her.

“But you aren’t genetically enhanced. All you have is your skill, your training, your instincts. How does that translate to things like every day life here? I saw you sparring with Thor earlier- how does that work?”

“Well, workout schedules are pretty much nonexistent unless you’re Steve,” Clint said. “The guy loves his charts and order, but he’s getting better. Nat and I just sort of do our own thing. When we want to be able to fight with our full capabilities, it’s with each other, but with Steve or Thor we’re able to get in a good workout without getting injured or under-working them.”

“You’d be surprised at what us ‘normal people,’ can do,” Natasha said with a wry smile.

“I don’t doubt your abilities,” Imari said, thinking back to the gym. “Not at all. But there are some people who don’t understand how that can translate to working on a team of people who are physically able to crush you with a blow.”

“The secret to that is making them teammates instead of enemies,” Clint laughed. “Seriously, though- is it not public knowledge that Natasha kept the Hulk in check long enough for Thor to reach them? Helicarriers, New York, she dealt with the Big Guy on a broken ankle.”

Imari was so, so thankful that she’d traded in her pen and paper for a recorder that could get down everything, to the tone of pride and awe in Clint’s voice when he recounted the tale.

“Clint was the one who almost terminated Thor, too,” Natasha said. “During the New Mexico Incident, Coulson had him in the air and he almost made the shot. We’re well-equipped to deal with them if things go wrong, but they won’t. I think the worst fight we’ve had is over movie night.”

“You guys do movie night?” Imari jumped on the tidbit, and got an entire conversation about how they were working their way through Disney for Steve- they told her to ask about “Sleeping Beauty”- and the room arrangements in the tower, how Clint was an early riser but Natasha could sleep her way through a Hulk rampage if she really wanted to, what happened when S.H.I.E.L.D. fell and they found out they could have real lives. Natasha was only just getting used to this name as her last one- no more aliases, and beside her Clint seemed to glow. If the rest of the world could see them like this, there would be no more angry editorials about how dangerous it was to let them be loose and part of the Avengers.

She went off in search of Steve with new purpose, more confident in the rightness of her piece the more she learned about these smart, captivating, funny, surprisingly human protectors of the world. Learning that the fate of the world rested in the hands of people who couldn’t even wake up on time for Sunday brunch did little to temper her enthusiasm.

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It was on the way to meeting Steve in his studio that she saw him.

Passing by one of the mid-floor gyms, a small studio that looked like it was built for martial arts or yoga or maybe even dancing, the door happened to be open and when Imari heard the sounds of heavy breathing and the occasional grunt she wondered if Steve had decided to train while he waited, too. It seemed to be a thing with these people, like they couldn’t stay still.

JARVIS had just said “This is a restricted area, Ms. Masters,” when her head poked into the door, and by then the damage was done.

It was like the breath fled from her lungs or perhaps was knocked from her, the recorder in her hand falling to the floor as her fingers twitched, a massive shiver that ran the length of her body. She took a step back but knocked into the swung-open door, palms splaying flat against it behind her as she struggled to regain her breath and composure.

_Winter Soldier._

His metal arm gleamed in the light, but even through her shock Imari realized that it was no longer emblazoned with a red star. Instead, the logo of Captain America’s shield stood out starkly against the sleek metal, and his hair was slightly shorter, in contrast to the long tangles people from the DC incident had described. He was beating the pulp out of a large punching bag that swung wildly with each blow, and she wondered, frantic, when it would swing off its chain and bring the ceiling with it.

“Mr. Wilson, since it appears to have slipped your notice, you have a visitor,” JARVIS said, his synthetic voice dim and distant beneath the blood roaring in Imari’s ears.

 _Run_.

She only noticed Sam Wilson when he was right in front of her, blocking her view of the Winter Soldier but not before he turned in obvious surprise, and she got a clear look at his face.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, a hand flying to cover her mouth. Sam might as well have been invisible- her gaze was riveted over his shoulders to stare at the face of a ghost who looked equally surprised to see her. “Oh my _God_ , that’s- he-”

“Was the Winter Soldier, I know,” Sam said calmly, mellow tones clearly meant to reassure, but Imari shook her head.

“No, that’s James Barnes!” she whispered, as though raising her voice would make him disappear. “Oh God oh God, _James Barnes_ is the…”

And she was sliding to the floor, knees bending beneath her, a hand pressed against her throat. Her heart was beating a mile a minute and no matter how many times she told herself to calm down she couldn’t, could only listen to Sam’s echoing voice when he told her to breathe deeply, that she wasn’t in danger, that there was a lot of explaining to do.

It took a while before they were able to get to any of it.

After Sam had helped Imari up and taken her to one of the low benches in the hallway, and asked Bucky- _Bucky, Bucky Barnes_ , _Sergeant James Barnes, Howling Commando, Killed In Action in 1945_ \- to bring one of the water bottles for her to press against her forehead, she was finally able to look at him and focus. The cold against her skin helped, as did the few sips of water she dared to drink, stomach still roiling with the implications of her discovery.

All the while Bucky had leaned against the wall just outside the gym, arms crossed, a look of almost laughable apprehension on his face. The Winter Soldier looked nervous.

She almost did laugh, but swallowed it beneath her dread.

“How?” was all she asked, the moment she regained her voice. Sam fell back on the floor in front of her, bracing himself on his arms, and shot a quick look at Bucky. He nodded.

“Cryo-technology,” he shrugged. “You familiar with the story?”

“Of course,” she said. There was a section of the WWII curriculum set aside for Captain America in every American school, although the degree of intensity depended on the school, and it could have been anywhere from a textbook blurb to an entire unit devoted to him. Hers had been somewhere in the middle, but her education later in life had filled in the gaps with frightening amounts of detail. She knew the story.

“Arnim Zola was trying to recreate the super soldier serum while Bucky was held in that Hydra POW facility in ‘43. It helped him survive the fall from the train, and the Russians found him, and turned him over to Hydra. Before you ask, he’s not the Winter Soldier. That guy’s long gone- Hydra’s brainwashing didn’t hold up so well once we found him,” Sam said, and Imari’s head reeled.

Brainwashing.

Cryofreezing.

Forced to be an assassin for the organization you’d literally died trying to bring down, for over _seventy years_.

She wouldn’t wish that on her worst enemy and here she was, finding out that it had happened to a living legend.

“I need another minute,” she managed, sounding pathetic even to her own ears, but Sam just nodded and gave her a small smile. It was no wonder he worked with the VA- he was a natural at this, dealing with distressed people.

Imari’s hands tightened on her recorder- off- as she breathed deeply and tried to take stock of the immediate situation. The world around her.

Sam, broad-shouldered, hero, calm, was completely at ease.

Bucky, shirtless- _distracting_ , her brain said, and she knew it was a terrible thought but once she noticed she couldn’t unsee the rippling, muscled expanse of his naked chest and it was absolutely shameful, but then her gaze fell on the line of scar tissue that melded the metal arm to his flesh and the feeling died instantly. What had they put him through? How had they done it? How long had he been back in his own head?

_No. None of those questions. Listen, first._

_Observe._

Just then, she observed a furry something sitting on the floor by Bucky. It was a dog, what looked like a white golden retriever with a hint of blond to its fur, and she must have missed it in her panic. It had a sleek black collar and was leaning against Bucky’s legs, looking up at him and nudging him occasionally. It’s dangling tag said “Winter.”

She opened her mouth, though to say what she didn’t know, when a voice boomed down the hall.

“Sam! Bucky! JARVIS told me-”

Steve stopped cold when he spotted Imari hunched over on the bench, pressing a cool water-bottle to her forehead and probably white as a sheet, turning her dark skin ashy. For a breathless moment his fists opened and closed, eyes bouncing between Sam and Bucky with concern, before they settled on her.

“Are you alright?” he asked, approaching slowly. Imari swallowed and nodded.

“I already explained a bit, Cap,” Sam said, rising. “She freaked out a bit, but we’re fine. Right?”

He looked at her, brown eyes piercing, and she nodded again.

“Yeah,” she rasped, then cleared her throat. “We’re fine. Just… shocked.”

She chuckled nervously. That was the understatement of the century.

“That’s how I was at first, too,” Steve said, and Imari realized with a jolt that the Winter Soldier incident was the first time Steve saw Bucky alive. “Shocking” probably didn’t quite cover it. Hers was the gentle introduction. “You alright, Buck?”

It was the first time anyone had addressed Bucky, other than when Sam supported Imari and murmured for Bucky to keep his distance. The former Winter Soldier’s head jerked up at Steve’s question, and Imari didn’t miss the hand that fell reflexively to Winter’s head, flesh and blood fingers burying themselves in his fur.

“I’m fine,” he said, and Imari was surprised at the tone of his voice. He didn’t sound… inhuman. In fact, she could have believed there was nothing wrong with him, with that tone, except for its small hint of insecurity, as if he wasn’t sure of the definition of “fine” but didn’t want to say anything else. Steve clearly picked up on it, and his gaze softened.

“Really?”

Then a slow smile came over Bucky’s face, almost a grin for its slow, drawling curl of his lips, and Imari could see the handsome man from the pictures at the Smithsonian, in her school textbooks. Cocky 40s officer who was a hit with the ladies and a steadfast friend.

“Really, punk. I’m messed in the head, not made of glass. She was more scared than I was,” he said.

“In his defense,” Imari said, “I did have a mild panic attack in front of him.”

“And I didn’t freak out,” Bucky said, as if this was a frequent worry of Steve’s. Something dark in Imari wasn’t surprised, and it made her sad.

“So what’s with the dog?” she asked, for lack of anything better to say. Bucky scratched Winter behind the ears and a fond look grew in his eyes.

“He’s an emotional support animal,” Sam explained. “Lots of vets have them, and I have a friend who trains them for troops coming home.”

“So you really are better,” Imari breathed, a subconscious smile coming over her face. “Rehabilitating, and all that. With friends.”

Bucky looked like he wanted to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Yeah.”

“This…” she pulled her hands back through her hair and leaned back against the wall, letting out a breath. “This is amazing. You’re alive, you’re not a murderous assassin, you have a super support group, you have a _dog_. It’s all just…”

Sam let out a huff of laughter at her hand gesture.

“I know what you mean. That was my reaction to all this, too.”

“We need to know that you don’t tell anyone about this, Imari,” Steve said suddenly, arms crossed, the familiar “Captain America I’m-Dissapointed-In-You” frown on his face. Imari shook her head.

“It’s bad journalism, keeping this secret… but I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?” she asked, looking around at the three men.

“No really,” Steve said. “Bucky’s still getting used to everything, and if the world knew-”

“They wouldn’t understand,” she murmured, eyes ghosting back to Bucky, who was still petting Winter mechanically, looking at the floor.

“As far as everyone knows, James Barnes is dead and the Winter Soldier is worthy of the death penalty in practically every court system in the world. It’s better to keep all this a secret,” Sam said.

“I understand.” She hated that she did, that she _wanted_ to help him. It made doing what they asked much easier than it should have been, even though every second she wasn’t calling the police or the government or at least the local news station was one more minute in her life of being a traitor to her country.

“And I won’t breathe a word… on one condition.”

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"Seriously? You _told_ the visiting reporter that we’re harboring an ex-Hydra assassin that the entire world intelligence community is currently looking for?" Tony said when they walked into the top floor bar after their long “discussion” in the hall.

"I thought he could use another friend," Steve said simply, throwing Bucky a questioning look. When the former Winter Soldier nodded, Steve's features relaxed. Imari’s internal question about just how honest Steve and Sam were going to be about the real circumstances of their meeting was answered.

"We're, ah... Experimenting," Imari filled in. She and Bucky exchanged a look, the latter tentatively smiling. It was more like a twitch really, but it was more than he’d given most anyone who hadn't been helping rehabilitate him for the past nine months. "Captain Rogers proposed some relationships outside of the Avengers might be helpful, and since I'm in a position to know more than most, it's convenient and safe. Also, no need to worry- I may be a reporter but Sergeant Barnes isn’t on my list. No one needs to know he’s here."

“Just like that? You’re going to let yourself be accomplice to subterfuge of the highest order?” Tony asked skeptically. “You do realize how wanted this guy is, right?”

“I also know more than the governments looking for him do- namely that he isn’t a villain; he’s a victim,” Imari said. “No one knows that the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes are the same person.”

"Are we sure this is a good idea? I mean, I know it's a little late to say this but should we really get a non-superhero-related civilian involved? You're writing a story about the Avengers that's pretty in-depth already- is you getting involved smart _or_ safe?" Clint asked, arms crossed as he looked about the room.

Bucky leaned down to pat Winter’s head absently, scratching the dog behind the ears and visibly relaxing. Steve caught the movement and gave Bucky an encouraging smile- all of the talk about secrecy, hiding, and the current state of the world’s opinion on the Winter Soldier must have been grating and sensitive for him to listen to. After another moment he sank to the floor entirely, wrapping an arm absently around the dog and continuing to scratch his head. Winter looked to be in perfect bliss, and licked Bucky’s metal fingers affectionately. Meanwhile, Imari was still proving her case to the less trusting Avengers.

"Fun facts about Imari,” she began, looking more than slightly irritated. “I majored in American history, I've taken basic self-defense classes and am perfectly capable of taking more, I chose _not_ to invade your privacy by reading the files leaked onto the internet, am one of the only people at this point who is trying to make the public like you, and, amazing as it sounds, would love the chance to help Sergeant Barnes rejoin the modern world," Imari said pointedly, and even pulled up her resume on her phone to show Clint. She was a history major with a double minor in journalism and environmental sciences.

"Have you ever cosplayed one of us?" Tony asked suddenly. Imari wasn't amused.

"No but I do have a niece who wants to be Thor when she grows up."

"Superhero fetish?"

"Of course not- I didn't even ask for this story."

"You do realize that hanging out with us is nothing like comic con or living the nerd dream?"

"I was in New York when the Chitauri invaded, and remember the incident in Greenwich, I studied the Howling Commandos as part of my graduating thesis on the invisible Heroes of WWII- I’m under no illusions. My only goal is to help you, because history makes it very clear that societies make mistakes and sometimes guardians are needed to protect it, and in thirty years I don't want to look back and regret not helping Earth's mightiest heroes when everything else was against them," Imari said. There was so much conviction in her voice that none of them could argue, and also the fact that Tony had spoken and simultaneously pulled up everything about her on the kitchen TV.

Thor smiled abruptly, brightly.

"Your niece desires to become a shield-maiden of Asgard?" he asked excitedly.

"Yes," Imari smiled fondly. "She had a Thor costume made for Halloween last year, and asked for Viking books for her birthday."

"Give her my best wishes in her pursuits, and tell her that the Lady Sif, one of my sworn defenders, is one of the greatest shield-maidens in Asgard."

"Thank you- I will. Unfortunately, I do need to get going. I only have a few days to write this- it’s running on Friday if my editor likes it enough. Could I come back tomorrow morning to interview you, Thor?”

“Of course,” the god rumbled.

"See ya," Tony said, swiping away her life from his screen.

"Good luck with the story," Steve said. He and Imari shook hands and Imari turned to Bucky.

He gave her another spastic smile, but it was a little friendlier this time. His metal arm was still linked to Winter, like the dog was an anchor.

"Sergeant Barnes, about that one condition we discussed… could I take the liberty of asking to write an article about you? I mean, when you rejoin the world for good- hopefully not as a political prisoner." So far the Winter Soldier was still just a Hydra pawn and assassin, the villain the tried to destroy S.H.I.E.L.D.

The room waited with bated breath for Bucky's reply, Imari clutching her recorder again.

"I- I would like that," he murmured. "The truth."

"And I would be honored to tell it."

“We’ll give you a call when he’s resurrected to the general public,” Tony said.

“That’s all I can ask for. Except- I do need one more thing.”

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It was the morning's front page just a few days later, a large picture of the Avengers in the tower, in casual cloths, doing the most mundane things Imari could think of at the time she’d had their staff photographer take the photo the day after her interviews. Tony was nursing a cup of coffee and browsing the paper, Sam was on the couch with Thor watching TV while Steve made Natasha eggs and she watched the news on Tony’s personal tablet. Clint was halfway out of the fridge with a toaster strudel in his mouth, reaching for Natasha’s coffee.

It was understated, it was funny, it fit the tone of her piece perfectly.

So of course, it ran on the same day that the _Daily Bugle_ ran fuzzy pictures of the Winter Soldier and Captain America on the DC bridge from their fight months ago with a headline accusing Steve of being part of the Hydra plot and secretly harboring the Winter Soldier. There was no evidence, of course, which was why Imari found it funny rather than alarming. Jameson had no idea just how close to the truth he was, but his hate-filled ramblings were fodder for a public who craved tabloids and conspiracy theories and never stayed on them long.

Imari’s story was a triumph, and the effects were seen not long after. She was gratified to notice that Sam and Steve went out more frequently where people could see them, that they visited the VA together and photos surfaced, the Veteran’s Affairs building getting a lot more traffic. There was a tabloid article about Thor taking Jane to see a new documentary on Steven Hawking, and coming out of the theater both stopped to sign things for fans and Thor made no secret of how much he enjoyed midgardian entertainment, if it was just a bit less exciting than their tournaments on Asgard, the midgardian equivalent of which was WWE. Tony even took Pepper on a date to Paris and if it was private, well, the paparazzo who took a snapshot of them drinking champagne on the restaurant balcony didn’t know that.

Clint started volunteering to teach young girls archery in the park, and a week later Natasha was sighted leaving a prominent ballet studio, workout bag over her shoulder. The Avengers were reintegrating, leaving their lives of hermitry in the tower behind, and Imari could only watch with bated breath for the final reveal, clutching the promise of the story of the century to her heart.

The pile of books on her bedside table quickly grew into one particular genre: World War II, the Howling Commandos, James Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… actual plots appears… dun dun dun.   
> Just imagine the Jaws theme and that’s the next chapter or two. Yay stuff happening! Except, not action stuff! Because I suck at writing action! Winter will feature more prominently too. Just… Bucky and an emotional support dog (different from a service dog, since he doesn’t have a mental or physical disability) :D I was going to do puppies, but I couldn’t find a logical reason for someone to bring Labrador retriever puppies to Avengers Tower and figured a rescue would work better. This chapter was actually so long that I had to split it into two parts, and since it’s already written I can happily tell you that chapter two will be posted in two weeks (sorry, but I need to give myself time to write the other chapters!!)  
> Review!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was supposed to be twice as long, because I had Natasha braiding Bucky's hair after he has a Bad Day and then dragging him up dance with her to "Happy" while Tony secretly recorded it for the interwebs (Pepper intervenes, Natasha doesn't find out, Tony lives) BUT because Scrivner is sometimes stupid, all of that is gone now. Remains to be seen if it will be re-written, but i figured all of you would just want another chapter by now so here are the poor remains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!!!!  
> Please enjoy Chapter 9, part II! And… my sincerest apologies for being so late. School has decided that I now have two IA’s to work on, SATs to study for, a show coming up in two weeks that the cast is not prepared for, home stuff, and etc. Etc. Basically I’m dying and I can’t do NaNoWriMo but here have a chapter I hope it was worth the wait.

It was shopping day. Bucky had had a _bad_ week, Steve had broken three sandbags when nightmares kept him awake, Tony’s alcohol supply was rapidly diminishing as his latest project- Ironman suits for all of the Avengers, even though they wouldn’t use them- drove him to the limits of his sanity, and Pepper had left for Tokyo on business. Sadly, even Darcy wasn’t in town to lighten the mood- something about an interview for a good political sciences college.

But the world spun on, so when the cabinets hung bare and gaping on the wall Steve declared that they all needed to stop moping and hoping the world would fall into a panic- who were heroes without someone to save? Bucky had been there so long he hardly counted anymore, considering Sam and Steve were really the only qualified people to deal with him when he was having flashbacks. So it was shopping day, and Steve dragged Clint and Nat with him and declared they would have a team dinner.

Natasha drove on the way home even though Steve had offered too, blaring Russian classical music from the Bolshevik era and humming along with eerie accuracy that Steve didn’t want to ask about.

"I'm hungry," Clint complained from the back seat, gazing at the locked-down grocery bags as his stomach grumbled.      

"Hi Hungry, I'm Natasha," Natasha said as she tossed a pretzel into the back seat. Clint's hand shot out to catch it, and he ate it with gusto. Steve stifled laughter and Natasha was grinning. Suddenly it was a game to see how many pretzels Clint could catch on their way to the tower.      

When they finally arrived, Clint was desperate for a drink and Natasha was laughing her ass off in the driver's seat. When she finally got out of the car Clint booked it to the elevator, and she and Steve were left alone with the groceries. Thankfully he could hold six bags in each hand and Natasha was stronger than she looked, so they managed to get all of the groceries up to the kitchen in one trip.      

"Have you acquired pop tarts?" Thor asked as soon as they entered the kitchen. He was sitting at a barstool with Jane, who was showing him some of her research on building an Einstein Rosenbridge on earth. Every so often he nodded, or pointed out where the design needed to change based on the bridge’s equivalent in Asgard, and she scribbled notes with an enthusiastic expression. The plucky scientist had practically been living in Tony’s observatory, and had recently had another article published about her work on interstellar travel, but she was so busy that it was a surprise to see her out and about in the living spaces of the tower.

"Please tell me you didn't get strawberries again," Tony called from the fridge.      

"Just strawberry ice cream," Steve said, setting his bags on the island. Natasha did the same, and suddenly Bruce appeared as if he sensed the presence of food in the tower. Digging up a box of dried fruit and frozen curry, he retreated as quickly as he had come- probably back to his lab. As Thor busted out the pop tarts and Tony tossed an apple between his hands, Natasha looked around for an eerily absent member.      

"Bird boy grabbed a water bottle and retreated to his nest," Tony said around a mouthful of apple. Natasha nodded but her sense of unease didn't abate.      

"Has anyone seen Bucky?" Steve asked suddenly, and he met Natasha's eyes. Tony froze, and Thor and Jane shared a guilty look- they'd been too wrapped up in her blueprints to remember anything.      

Steve strode towards the elevator and Natasha ran for the stairs.      

"Will you check the gym? I'll look in his room," Steve said. Natasha nodded, heart constricted- who knew what had happened while he was unsupervised? JARVIS would have alerted them if he left the tower, but there was plenty of trouble Bucky could get in to, intentionally or unintentionally, in the multistory Stark fun complex, especially considering the bad week that had been the past seven days. Including- but not limited to- incidents of accidental self-harm (Sam had had to do a lot of talking after that one), Bucky locking himself in his room for forty-eight hours straight because his mind had wandered too far into its hidden places, snapping on Steve during training for 2.5 seconds during which the Winter Soldier reemerged with a vengeance, dissociating more than once during meals, and general insomnia so bad that Steve or Natasha and even Thor had stayed up on separate nights watching movies with him until he collapsed from exhaustion.

Just as Steve pressed the elevator button, the doors slid open to reveal a disheveled-looking Bucky, wearing black skinny jeans and a black tank top that exposed the scar tissue around his new metal arm. He blinked in surprise to see Steve so nearly run into him.      

"Uhh... My watch beeped," Bucky  said, holding up the small alarm with a blinking EAT on the face. Now, rather than biological misfires, it was pure distraction that kept Bucky from remembering food, a force of habit yet to be broken.

"Just in time," Steve said, and he strode back into the room with Bucky drifting behind him.      

"How about an early dinner?" Natasha proposed. "It's five now; we can have something lined up in the next two hours."      

"I'll help," Steve proposed, seeing how Tony and Thor couldn't cook at all, Clint was MIA, Sam was at his apartment, and Jane and Bruce had science things to do.      

That night they feasted on fajitas and discussed conspiracy theories- courtesy of Clint- but that line of speculation died as soon as Steve thought to include Bucky by asking him who he thought shot President Kennedy.

Bucky had swallowed, setting down his food and frowning at the table.

“I think I did.”

About that time Tony started talking about Disney movies and they all tried to not think about any other important historical figures Bucky may or may not have scratched off Hydra’s list by planning a movie night.

No one said anything when Bucky went to bed with Natasha that night, and Steve even looked ready to breath a sigh of relief, trading an enigmatic look with Natasha before she closed her bedroom door.

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 _Cigarette smoke meandered lazily throughout the room, winding beneath the nostrils of decorated old men and delicate women on its way to filling the space with unbreathable air. As lavish dresses and tailored suits and uniforms converged on plush seats or floated across a shimmering dark dance floor France's elite enjoyed the comforts of the hidden hotel and its celebration of the regime. The fully stocked bar, nondiscriminatory  of the baser forms of alcohol if significantly better stocked with fine French wines, and scattered fruit, cheese, and desert trays could have fed a whole quarter for a month, if they didn't drink themselves to death first._  
 _The man in the corner watched low lights from the chandeliers glance off of clinking champagne glasses and set fire to swishing amber liquid, plump lips and shriveled ones and lacquered nails all taking pride in the crystal flutes and their ambrosia. Even the government officials were drunk beyond belief._  
 _It was a slaughter waiting to happen, all the bodyguards outside too slow to stop him once he started, if that was what he wished._  
 _But that was not his mission._  
 _The Winter Soldier missed the weight of his knives, but even entering the room avoiding the guards, he had been ordered to risk nothing. Besides, he was equally adept at killing with his hands._  
 _But that was not his mission._  
 _Scowling slightly from the shadows, the expert at going unnoticed mentally mapped the room which did not exist, supplying himself with the blueprints even his handlers had not been able to find. Four guarded exits, two flights of stairs, one elevator, two vents, an old, unused dumbwaiter crawl space hidden by the new, elaborate paint job and most likely forgotten in the process. There were three floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Seine- the easiest point for a long-range kill._  
 _But, again, that was not his mission._  
 _The tailored suit was uncomfortable and rigid, less than optimal for the bloodbath he was to begin once his mark arrived. The Winter Soldier knew he should be less conspicuous, should probably move from his chair and ignored corner, from there he was at a loss. He was a tool made for achieving his handlers' ends, yes, but who knew how long it had been since he was in a social setting? He only remembered a few scattered missions between going back into cryosleep, the farthest back somewhere in the late 60s, as far as he could guess. None involved mingling. The Winter Soldier tugged at his collar, errantly wondering why he had been woken so early, as if he would need more than a few minutes to scout an escape route and the optimal position for the kill._  
 _He was caught between irrational thoughts of I Want- to tear this suit off- and I Wonder- what I was doing in America in November, ‘63- when he caught sight of the woman. Lounging against the bar, shoulders peaking from the elaborate white shrug, red hair muted in the dim light but still glowing, body hugged by the elegant dress the color of a depthless sea, she was infinitely more striking than any other human in this room, and he wondered how he could have missed her before. Short answer; he couldn't have, so she must have just arrived.  As if she felt the heat of his eyes she turned, and across the room their eyes met but his were dragged lower as soon as he had full view of her face._  
 _Her lips were red, red like pain like lust._  
 _Not like love._  
    _But his heart still beat painfully when he saw her, so powerful a sense of recollection washing over him that he could not stop himself from approaching her, shouldering his way through the dancers to her place at the bar._  
 _"Do I know you?" he asked, sliding up next to her. She glanced at him over the top of her drink, green eyes narrowing curiously. The small wrinkles at their edges were familiar, though the rest of her face was so stunningly foreign he couldn't fathom why. A sense of familiarity was a novel thing for the Winter Soldier, so he would not let this woman out of his sight until he knew why he remembered her._  
 _"I don't know, do you?" she asked as she lowered her drink, eying him gratuitously. He took the time to do the same, noting the knife pressed against her thigh, the poison in her sheathed hair pins, the small gun hidden in the folds of her shrug. He also noticed her mischievously curving lips, flawless cream-rose skin and heart shaped face. He shivered when he realized how perfectly his hands would fit the slim curve of her waist._  
 _Painted nails clicked against the bar top, and he blinked._  
 _"Yes, I do," he said resolutely just as she began to turn away. His arm reached out, gloved fingers wrapping around her arm and feeling the hidden muscle there. The long curve of her neck rippled as she turned, and the lighting of the room silhouetted her profile, lighting the edges of her dark lashes with fire. The Winter Soldier felt something simultaneously uncomfortable, and... Warm, bloom in his chest. Familiarity and fondness were new for him._  
 _"But you don't know how, do you?" the woman said, looking at him sharply. His silence must have been enough of an answer for she turned back to him and physically removed his hand from her arm, strong even with the fact that he barely resisted._  
 _"This glove is hiding metal up to your shoulder, you don't know why your hair is so long but you get the feeling you don't like it, the identity of your handlers is unknown to you and you don't care," she reeled off the information, things that no one could know, thoughts he had never given voice to, would never._  
 _In the .5 seconds it took him to plan how to most discreetly kill and dispose of her she closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to his, hands winding around his neck in the perfect position to snap it._  
 _"My name is Natalia Alianovna Romanova," she whispered against his lips. "This is the third time I have met you and you have had no memory of me. You have not killed me because part of you remembers that I am the closest thing to an ally the Winter Soldier has."_  
 _"You are the Black Widow, agent of the Red Room," he said, eyes narrowing, but he didn't break away. There was a hairsbreadth of distance between their lips, and her chest, accented by the sweetheart neckline, was pressed to his._  
 _"Your protege," she smiled, and he frowned. The regular mind wipes were no bother to him- it served the greater good, even if he didn't know what that good was- but the idea of ever having been a Red Room teacher was... Unsettling. The world his handlers seemed to be building did not align with Russia's long-term interests, which would not have merited an alliance-_  
    _"Why should I trust you?" he asked against his conditioning. He should not trust anyone but his handlers, ever._  
 _When she took a step away from him, an unpleasant feeling rose in his chest. Her eyes were sad as a hand brushed the hair away from his face._  
 _"Because to me you are not the Winter Soldier. Have you ever felt that you are more than the name they give you?"_  
 _This was treason._  
 _But it was not defection- he had hours until he had to meet his target, since they had given him more time than he needed to scope the hotel. This woman was an... Ally, and even as she spoke he knew she was not lying. Tangled limbs and red hair strewn on his chest, whispered truths, half-hearted goodbyes, surfaced in his mind's eye, awaking a restlessness he didn't know he had._  
     Who was I?  
      _"Yes," he said._  
 _"When we are together, we are more than our titles."_  
      What was my name?  
        _Natalia wound her fingers through his flesh and blood ones and when she pulled, he followed._  
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 _She was the nagging feeling in the back of his head that he had forgotten something, the emptiness plaguing hours after each awakening from cryo, the errant, desperate thought that Wait! There's something I need to remember this time! before the mouthguard was between his teeth and lightning clawed into his brain._  
 _So he committed her face to memory as she slept on the floor beside him, her steady breaths a testament to how much she trusted him. Briefly he wondered how many memories of her had been sacrificed for his cause, then decided it didn't matter. He would complete his mission and leave her regardless- whatever forbidden treaty they held that kept them human did not come before his handlers. She clearly felt the same, despite her equally honest admissions of not wanting to forget him._  
 _He decided as he rose that he did not want to forget her, either._  
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 _The Black Widow reported to her handlers that an enemy agent got to her mark before her, and that it would serve the same purpose as if she herself had killed him, had carved the bloody smile into his neck with her bare hands in the middle of a secure room just as the enemy agent had done, right before disappearing without a trace._  
 _She was reprimanded, and then punished when unable to identify the agent or recall all but his basest features. Then she was sent back to the barracks, and there awaited her next mission._  
 _Rather than sleep, she worked herself to exhaustion in the gym, siphoning off her suddenly explosive, irrational anger._  
 _They had taken Venice from him, the hotel bathtub outside Kiev, and other stolen excursions between their last meeting and his last mind wipe. Of course they had, just as they took his memories of serving the Motherland, but still the Black Widow was angry. She should not be, had no right to be, but anger was the only alternative to sadness, and tears were one thing that neither nature nor her bloody nurture had been able to teach her._  
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Natasha woke with tears on her cheeks, and it took her one desperate, suspended moment to realize that she was not in a hotel in Paris, and that the man sleeping beside her was not the Winter Soldier. Blinking, eyes adjusting to the darkness, she ran her thumb across Bucky’s cheek. When she felt his warm breath on her face she relaxed and endeavored to throw off the unsettling dream.

His eyes slid open in the darkness and for a brief instant she saw recognition- they had been having the same dream. Then it was gone as quickly as it had come, and he blinked at her in confusion.

“Are you alright?” she asked, chest suddenly heavy.

“I thought…” he swallowed, and shifted so that he was staring up at the ceiling and her arm was splayed across his chest. She turned her cheek to the pillow to look at his profile, silhouetted in the faint light coming through the tinted window. “I don’t know. I think I dreamed, but I don’t remember.”

I don’t remember.

Natasha squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment and willed herself to breathe. Of course he wouldn’t remember every dream, ever memory- his brain had been tampered with for seventy years and regenerative super-soldier serum or not, he had incurred damage. She would her fingers into his shirt, tugging softly, and let her hand go slack.

“Just try to sleep.”

She’d said it like a command, too late to realize it. His eyes slid closed and his breathing deepened, his body going deathly still. In the span of a few seconds, he was out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve stuck on this long… thank you so much. I can’t begin to express how grateful I am, and I hope this story continues to be worth it for you, and entertaining, and well-done. Please leave me a review, even if it’s short, I’d love to know what you think, what you like, what you don’t. Next chapter should be up in the next few weeks, tba date. Before Thanksgiving is really all I can promise. :(


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